


In This Same Space (stay for a minute)

by Hyeyu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anime/Manga/Comic Conventions, Best Kouhai Yahaba-chan, Cosplay, Cosplayer!Oikawa, Doujinka!Iwaizumi, Doujinshi, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slice of Life, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:46:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7751005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyeyu/pseuds/Hyeyu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Yahaba rolled his eyes, reaching up to peel Tooru’s hand away from his face. “He’s not going to magically appear just because I said something nice about him. Iwaizumi-senpai isn’t actually a demon, y’know.”</p>
  <p>“Wouldn’t be surprised if he were,” Tooru muttered mutinously as they resumed walking. “There isn’t anything off with my costume, right?”</p>
  <p>“You’ve already asked me this nine times this morning, senpai. It looks good, no, I don’t see anything out of place, people are going to eat it up and take a billion photos with you and seriously, why do you care so much about what Iwaizumi-senpai is going to-”</p>
  <p>“I do not fucking care,” Tooru hissed through a gritted smile as he waved to a couple of familiar faces rushing past, “about what that pedant says about my cosplays. I do <i>not</i>.”</p>
</blockquote><p>In which Oikawa is a fairly well-known cosplayer, Iwaizumi is the irritatingly talented doujinka who regularly spots errors in his costumes, and their booths keep ending up located beside one another at conventions, much to Oikawa's dismay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In This Same Space (stay for a minute)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a cute little 3k-word fic. *wrings hands*
> 
> It's not mentioned in the tags, but there's some Kise/Kasamatsu (Kuroko no Basuke) as well in that heap of words below.

**FEBRUARY: Wonder Festival, (Day 1)**

Tooru wasn’t worried. Not at all.

Quite honestly, there was little to fuss about. The traffic to the event venue had been less packed than they had planned for, and neither he nor Yahaba had left anything back at their apartment that warranted an emergency rush-back this time. Their goods were all checked and accounted for in the suitcases they were currently wheeling towards their assigned booth, and Tooru’s costume had survived the commute with no damage at all. On top of all that, like the proverbial icing on top of the cake, the heating in the hall felt like it was actually working properly for once, which meant Tooru wasn’t going to freeze or melt by the end of the day. By all accounts, they were exceptionally prepped and ready to weather through the hectic day ahead.

Yet...Tooru glanced over the floor layout in his hand a final time, biting at his bottom lip. Beside him, Yahaba vocalized the sigh Tooru had stifled, long-suffering.

“Staring at it hard enough isn’t going to magically switch our location, Oikawa-senpai.”

“I know, I know. It’s just…” Tooru tried to keep the whine out of his voice, his face twisting into a grimace instead. “Why are we _always_ beside GYU-nikku’s booth?”

Yahaba shrugged, bumping Tooru’s bag with his own. “Good for the traffic flow, maybe? It’s not like they can plunk either of us in the center rows unless they want to clog up the walkways. If it bothers you that much, I can try to send in a request to not be located beside GYU-nikku at the next con.”

“But that’d be _rude_ , Yahaba-chan. We’re professionals."

“Then I guess there’s really nothing we can do but deal with it,” Yahaba pointed out reasonably. “Cheer up, senpai, maybe Iwaizumi-senpai won’t be as nitpicky this year. Besides, I thought you said he was easy on the eyes-”

“Shhh, don’t say that!” Tooru hissed, clapping a hand over Yahaba’s mouth as the other belatedly grabbed at his suitcase before it flopped onto the floor. “He might pop up and overhear you!”

Yahaba rolled his eyes, reaching up to peel Tooru’s hand away from his face. “He’s not going to magically appear just because I said something nice about him. Iwaizumi-senpai isn’t actually a demon, y’know.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if he were,” Tooru muttered mutinously as they resumed walking. “There isn’t anything off with my costume, right?”

“You’ve already asked me this nine times this morning, senpai. It looks good, no, I don’t see anything out of place, people are going to eat it up and take a billion photos with you and seriously, why do you care so much about what Iwaizumi-senpai is going to-”

“I do not fucking care,” Tooru hissed through a gritted smile as he waved to a couple of familiar faces rushing past, “about what that _pedant_ says about my cosplays. I do _not_.”

“If you say so, senpai.” Yahaba thankfully left it at that - Tooru didn’t need the morning further ruined before it even kicked off properly.

“Yo, Oikawa, Yahaba.” Matsukawa lifted a sleepy hand in greeting as the pair approached the rows of white-panelled booths that comprised the fan goods section. Despite the early hour, the area was already buzzing with frenetic activity, people industriously setting out their merchandise and decorating their booths with artist’s banners and signs to make them stand out. Matsukawa himself was laying out samples of postcard and poster prints, a modest panel with “NAITO SAFARI’ emblazoned on it already attached to the front of his table. “S’a bit early for you two this time around, isn’t it?”

“Traffic was light today. Probably for the best though; that gives us more time to set up, especially since Yahaba-chan’s got more stuff to sell this time around - some really awesome Kurobasu keychains _and_ a new doujin, you’ll love them. By the way, I don’t suppose you’ve seen Suga-chan around yet, have you, Mattsun?”

“‘Suga-chan?’”

“‘Shiroshi’,” Yahaba supplied from where he was pushing his suitcase under the table, using Sugawara’s cosplay handle. “The cosplayer.”

“Oh, him. Nope, but if I had to guess, he’s probably over at where the Karasuno booths are.” Matsukawa waved vaguely at the other end of the section, where the Miyagi-based doujinshi circle was apparently located this convention. “Very fancy outfit you’ve got on today. You doing some Tourabu chara?”

“Kinda obvious, Mattsun - keep up with the times, will ya?” The drawl was familiar, and Tooru turned to see Hanamaki assembling a metal pop-up frame in a large arch over their assigned table. Like Matsukawa’s, the booth sign was also already up and unfurled, ‘GYU-nikku’ printed in large, unfussy font across the banner. “Hey, Oikawa. Reusing your Mitsutada cosplay, I see."

“It’s not technically ‘reusing’ if I’ve never brought it to a convention before.” Tooru carefully started transferring the stack of file folders Yahaba had put on the chair onto their table. “Don’t let the spirit of the Cosplay Grinch infect you this early, Makki.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling him this time around?” Hanamaki tossed Tooru a shit-eating grin, even as his hands dexterously hooked clasps for keychain displays into place. “So polite of you. Yo, Issei.”

“‘Sup, Hiro?”

“Bet you lunch that Oikawa here calls Iwaizumi that name to his face before noon.”

“Nope, not going to bet on a sure-thing.”

“Before the crowds start coming in?”

Matsukawa hummed consideringly as he set his price signs out. “Alright, I’ll bite.”

“ _You guys._ Just because Iwa-chan is a stick in the mud and can't be happy without complaining about something at least once per con-”

“Iwaizumi,” came an annoyed voice from under the table, “is _right here_ , you assholes.”

Tooru bit back a startled swear word, averting his eyes as Iwaizumi straightened from where he had been kneeling beneath the makeshift tablecloth, a stack of doujinshi tucked under each arm and a forbidding glower on his face. Already, he could feel that sharp gaze zero in on his costume, scrutinizing the fit of the leather harness and the various armor parts, probably picking out the miniscule details Tooru had missed. “Yahaba-chan, if it’s ok, I’ll just-”

“Go get pretty, I’ll arrange your prints for you. You can deal with how you want the photobooks later.” Yahaba tossed Tooru’s pack to him. “I put the wig cap and bobby pins in the front compartment, and there’s extra tape and pins in the green pouch.”

“You’re the actual best, Yahaba-chan!” Spinning on his heel, Tooru stalked purposefully in the direction of the restrooms. He was not avoiding Iwaizumi, he was not-

Oh, who the hell was he kidding, he _was_ avoiding Iwaizumi. The other man seemed gifted with the innate ability to make Tooru feel self-conscious about his work with just a few words. It didn’t matter if Tooru had spent sleepless nights fixing seams, re-dyeing wig colors or adding extra varnish to get a weapon to shine just so, Iwaizumi always managed to point out something off that Tooru had overlooked.

The worse part, Tooru thought, pulling a face, was that he had yet to be wrong.

The familiar chemical mix of hairspray and scented cosmetics greeted Tooru the minute he pulled open the door to the restrooms. Inside, there were already several cosplayers clustered around the mirrors in varying states of readiness, their boisterous chatter speaking volumes about their experience. From his corner where he was brushing out a long wig, Kuroo wolf-whistled at Tooru’s entrance. “About time G-King himself showed up.”

“Hi to you too, Tettsun.” Tooru wasted no time once he had elbowed his way over to an empty spot at one of the sinks, pulling his hair into a hairnet before critically checking his eyeliner and pronouncing it fine. Pulling the dark blue wig over his head and tugging the strands to fall across his face, Tooru deftly secured them into place with a quick blast of hairspray, fluffing them up slightly to appear natural. The contacts he had on were definitely spot on, he decided, his hands undoing and retying the thick brocade rope hanging across his chest, fussing at the loop until it was draped according to his liking.

On his left, someone swore quietly. “Fuck, does anyone have a spare safety pin?”

“Here.” One hand gripping the belt at his waist (it should be just the teeniest bit higher), Tooru thrusted a pin out blindly, brushing off the heartfelt thanks as it was grabbed from his fingers. Instead, he tugged on said belt until it fell more artfully around his hips. All things given, Mitsutada was a fairly mobile cosplay; even with the shoulder armor, he was fairly easy to move around in, which was why Tooru had elected to do him for this convention.

That, and the compliments he had received on his online Mitsutada photosets as being one of the more accurate depictions of the character meant there would a lot less for Iwaizumi to find fault with.

In all honesty, Tooru didn’t understand why Iwaizumi’s off-hand comments on his cosplays rankled so much - he had received various types of criticism before without being too bothered about them.

No, that was a lie - he knew perfectly well why it bugged him. While Iwaizumi may not be a fan of Tooru’s cosplays, Tooru loved GYU-nikku’s art, even before he had met the man behind the pen name in person. Yahaba had brought a copy of one of GYU-nikku’s Prince of Tennis doujinshi back to their shared apartment a year ago, swearing up and down that he’d ‘become as good as Gyu-nikku some day’. Tooru had laughed at Yahaba’s ferventness, flipped the doujin open to a random page and was promptly hooked on the storyline. GYU-nikku’s skill didn’t simply lie in his art - which was amazing in its own right, skillfully done in clean and expressive lines - but in his storytelling skills. The doujinshi had been thought-provoking and heart-wrenching, and if hearts could swell with emotion, Tooru’s had definitely been three sizes larger that its normal size that night. By the time he had finished reading the whole thing, unbidden tears were streaming down his face, and his dreams that night were a cacophony of scenes, half-formed from the doujin he’d read, brought to life by Tooru’s imagination.

Tooru had managed to persuade Yahaba to let him keep the doujin, which marked the start of a single-minded search for all the GYU-nikku art he could get his hands on. He had trawled the internet for GYU-nikku’s Twitter, saving the few uploaded pictures there into a folder on his laptop. He even stopped by Mandarake to pick up some of GYU-nikku’s older works, never mind that some of the fandoms weren’t even familiar to Tooru.

When Yahaba had triumphantly announced that their booth was positioned beside GYU-nikku’s at the next convention they were attending, Tooru had been just as elated as his flatmate. He refreshed one of his most elaborate costumes - Zhao Yun from Dynasty Warriors 6, privately dubbed ‘armor hell’ - and painstakingly refined it further, eager to make a good impression on his favourite doujinka. The plan was simple - wow GYU-nikku with his cosplay, then once he had the doujinka’s admiration, get the ball rolling with how amazing his art was, and allow his natural charisma to take it from there.

At the event itself, Tooru had been a bundle of nerves, elation and excitement surging through him even as he maintained his charming exterior. GYU-nikku had been late then - Hanamaki, his booth helper explaining that he had been held up by an accident on the train line - and Tooru had gotten so wrapped up in taking photos with fans and signing his photobooks that he failed to notice when another person finally took the empty seat beside Hanamaki.

When he had finally managed to catch a brief break, Tooru had turned to chat with Hanamaki - and had been bowled over all over again at how attractive GYU-nikku was. Far from being the slight, perhaps nerdy-looking artist he had expected, the man sketching busily looked like he spent more time on workout machines than on an art tablet.

Then GYU-nikku had looked up, dark eyes catching Tooru’s own, and Tooru was tongue-tied, uncharacteristically at a loss for what to say-

The artist squinted at him. “Not bad. Though, shouldn’t the sigil on the belt be a little larger? Looks like it might be lacking a few fangs as well.”

Tooru had blanked out. He didn’t quite really remember what he had retorted, but according to Yahaba, “I think you overreacted a bit, Oikawa-senpai.” And that was quite a lot, coming from Yahaba.

Needless to say, it had been Ground Zero since then. The rest of Tooru and GYU-nikku’s (or ‘Iwaizumi-senpai’, as Tooru had found out later from Yahaba) interactions over the next six conventions seemed cut from the same pattern: Iwaizumi would poke holes into Tooru’s cosplays, and Tooru would retort with quips of Iwa-chan being jealous, rinse repeat. Their conversations, when they actually happened, were characterized by verbal snipes back and forth, most of them sarcastic.There were times Tooru swore Iwaizumi looked at him as if the cosplayer were a particularly ugly bug he’d like to squash with his bare hands.

(“He doesn’t look at you that way,” Yahaba said for the umpteenth time as Hanamaki guffawed unabashedly in the chair beside his. But what did Yahaba know.)

Thank goodness Yahaba had the patience of a saint - Tooru wasn’t sure even he himself would have put up with listening to their petty arguments rehashed, albeit in different variations. Hanamaki seemed amused for most part, as was Matsukawa, who also often got shoved in on the other side of their booth. Tooru would have been offended at the number of bets they had running on his conversations (if one could call them such) with Iwaizumi, were he less involved in said conversations

The worse part of the whole affair was that, as trivial as it may have seemed, Iwaizumi had been sort of correct. Tooru himself had agonized over the different official images of Zhao Yun during his planning stage, trying to figure out which would be more accurate in terms of carving out the details on the epoxy pieces. He had been fairly satisfied with the compromise he had struck, and no one had pointed it out.

No one, except one fussy, asshole doujinka, who happened to be stupidly hot and infuriating and brilliant and the worst person Tooru had never met all balled into one form.

There were times that Tooru secretly regretted exploding vocally at Iwaizumi. Who knows - perhaps if he had played it off with one of his practiced smiles, they might even be on good terms now. Hindsight was a bitch though, and Tooru was too proud to apologize first. Instead, he had channeled his resolve into dogged determination to cosplay something that Iwaizumi could find no fault with, something that the other man would have to admit was flawless.

It was probably an impossible goal; Tooru admitted as much as he pulled his eyepatch on and fixed it into place. And possibly a bit ironic. It didn’t matter how many admirers he had, both online and offline, or how recognized he was in the cosplay industry; the one person Oikawa Tooru wanted so desperately to impress, was the one who wasn’t.

“Looking good.” Kuroo had gotten his own wig on as well - long, grey strands of fiber tickled Tooru’s neck as the other cosplayer reached past him to nab his hairspray can. “Especially the contouring - got your jaw looking really sharp.”

“Of course it looks good. It’s me, after all.” Tooru flashed Kuroo a wink and a peace sign, and the other cosplayer groaned.

“Save the theatrics for those it actually works on.”

“Rude, Tettsun. By the way, ‘Sephiroth’, really?”

“Don’t bash the classics.” Kuroo’s grin was wolfish. “Commissioned Kenma to make me that crazy wing of his, it’s with him outside. Fantastic stuff, got real feathers and all.”

“‘Commission’?” Someone called from a closed stall - Konoha from the sounds of it. “Is that what they’re calling ‘dating’ these days?”

Kuroo laughed. “Hell, I wouldn’t know, would I? Guess that means I’ve been ‘commissioning’ Sawamura a lot then. A _whole_ lot, if you know what I mean.”

“Urgh, gross.” Tooru pulled a face as Konoha made dying cow noises. “Definitely did not need to know that, thanks. Oh yeah, you’re one of the judges for tomorrow, right? Don’t be late.”

“Oh, you’re Jin’s replacement?”

“Yeah. Yachi looked like she might cry when his cancellation notice arrived, so I offered to step in.”

“Just for you, I’ll try to be on time.” Kuroo flashed him a cat-like grin.”No promises though. It’s you, me, and..who was it again? Rufous, right?”

“Yup.” Tooru brushed himself down one last time, turning around to check if the back of his coattails were smooth. “Ok, last check - anything looking off? Weird? Missing?”

“Nope, you’re golden.” Kuroo’s thumbs up was accompanied by a few other murmurs of approval from the few other cosplayers in the cramped space. “Just the sword, but that’s back at your booth, right?”

“Yeah. Gonna go grab it, then find Shiroshi for a couple of quick photos before I get tied down at my booth. He’s supposed to be my Hasebe this con.” Squaring his shoulders, Tooru rolled his neck slightly. Whatever Iwaizumi might say, he looked good. He knew this - he’d worked hard enough on this cosplay, taken enough photos in it to know he carried the character’s dignity and outfit beautifully. He would not be fazed by anything Iwaizumi threw at him...

...the leather strap on the shoulder was probably a bit too thin. Fuck.

\---

Nine hours later found Tooru sitting behind his and Yahaba’s shared booth, head balanced carefully on folded arms as he took slow, careful breaths around the headache throbbing insistently at his temples. The majority of the crowd had been firmly shuffled out the hall by the event staff, and the corner in which their booth was located was mercifully quieter than the other sections of the hall.

The dark blue wig Tooru had donned for Mitsutada may have been accurate to the letter, but it was also slightly too tight around Tooru’s head circumference. Added to that, the shoes he had replaced the old pair with were uncomfortable to stand in for long periods of time - Tooru’s feet had started to join his head in hurting sometime around five o'clock, sending screaming tendrils of pain up his heels with every step he took. Tooru had taken to sitting down whenever he could, just so he could take them off briefly. Combine both of those with a distinctly hungry stomach, and anyone would have a fairly miserable person on their hands.

A lesser cosplayer would have called it a day and packed up. But Tooru prided himself on professionalism - he was aware that a good majority of the visitors to their booth were there to take photos with and give small gifts to G-King; a number of them even attended the con just for the opportunity to meet him in person. Plus, happy fans always translated to better sales, both for Yahaba’s and his goods. So he endured, smirking sexily all the while despite the overwhelming desire to rip the offending items off and chuck them as far away as possible.

Yahaba had finally wandered off to chat to the other booth owners, possibly to collect some of the reserved goods he had bought via online chats. It had taken a while for Tooru to convince him that it’d be fine for him to go enjoy himself a little, volunteering to man the booth while he was gone. He had waited until Yahaba was out of sight before he allowed himself a brief respite. He would straighten up in a few seconds, just a little longer…

“Hey, you alright?”

Iwaizumi. Of course. Tooru squeezed his eyes shut, took a fortifying breath, and bounced back up, a blinding smile already affixed in place. “Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be, Iwa-chan?”

Instead of telling Tooru to drop the silly nickname or snarking at him, Iwaizumi’s brow furrowed even deeper. “Cut the bullshit. You look like you’re one sheet away from tipping over.”

“Do not.” Tooru’s response was automatic, a knee-jerk response as he shot Iwaizumi the dirtiest look he could muster under short notice. “Just because we can’t all look like buff brutes doesn’t mean I’m weak.”

“That’s not what I said, dumbass.” Iwaizumi was rummaging through a bag he had pulled into his lap. “Learn to listen properly; no one in their right mind would call you ‘weak’.” A pleased ‘hah’, and Iwaizumi’s hand emerged holding a small blister pack, fingers deftly popping two capsules out and extending them to Tooru. “Here, take these - they should help.”

Tooru dumbly accepted the medicine Iwaizumi dropped into his palm, staring at them before he lifted wide eyes to the doujinka’s face. “...This isn’t poison, right? Because I know I called you ‘ugly’ once, but death in retaliation might be a bit drastic.”

“What - it’s not fucking poison, you dumbass.” Iwaizumi scowled harder, returning to packing up his things. “Just...hurry up and swallow them already.”

Hurriedly, Tooru popped the paracetamol into his mouth. It was a little hard to swallow around the lump of gratefulness that had lodged itself in his throat, but Tooru downed them manfully. He discreetly tugged at the rubber strap of his wig, shifting the pressure around; technically, he could remove it now, given that there was no ‘audience’ left to see him do so, save for perhaps one person.

But, that one - focused as he was on clearing up - was inexplicably important to Tooru’s pride, and Tooru couldn’t bear the thought of looking less than perfect in front of his greatest critic. Yahaba should be back in a bit anyway, and Tooru could escape to the safety of the restrooms then.

“Hey, Oikawa.” Sugawara’s smile beamed out from a cleanly washed face, the other cosplayer already ensconced in comfortable streetwear as he ambled up to the booth. “Still not changed out yet?"

“Nope, can’t leave this booth until Yahaba-chan comes back.” Tooru pulled the most dramatic doleful face he could manage, and Sugawara laughed. “My head’s killing me, but Yahaba-chan will kill me harder if someone steals our cash stash.”

“Ouch, better not do Mitsutada tomorrow then; tomorrow’s when most of the pro photographers will be around. Between them and the competition, you’ll probably have to stay on the floor longer.” Out of the corner of his eye, Tooru noticed Iwaizumi turn in his direction, but was distracted by Sugawara speaking again. “If you want, I can watch your booth for a bit, so you can go get changed. Yahaba knows me anyway, and you’ve been in that get up long enough today. I feel tired just looking at you.”

“Waaa, you’re the actual best, Suga-chan!” Tooru jumped to his feet, throwing his arms around the other man. “I’ll be back in ten, no, fifteen minutes, max.” Grabbing his things, he made to move towards the restroom until a thought arrested him. He hadn’t thanked Iwaizumi for the non-poison aspirin, much to his chagrin. Tooru was raised to be polite - it simply wouldn’t do for him to not acknowledge the act of kindness, even if it was from the guy Tooru hate-liked.

So he spun on his heel, and shuffled to the front of the GYU-nikku booth. Iwaizumi’s gaze, once he looked up, was bemused, and Oikawa took a deep breath.

“Thanks for the aspirin by the way, Iwa-chan! I really, really appreciate it.”

Flashing the doujinka his signature peace sign, Tooru scurried off before Iwaizumi could react, heart hammering faster than it should. Damn it, he was supposed to be cool and unflappable, and here he was, feeling like some flustered teenager, all awkwardness and stuttered words.

He’d blame it on the headache later, Tooru resolved, as he ducked into the restroom.

 

_\---[[GYU-nikku] ‘HITO NO TOU MADE’, 1st draft, page 2]---_

_「Kise Ryota sits, legs dangling over the school rooftop as he hums. Behind him a door opens.」_

_“Yo, Kise. You up here?”_

_「Kasamatsu Yukio peers around the door, frowning as he spots Kise.」_

_“Oi, get down from there.”_

_He doesn’t appear to have heard me, sitting there with that carefree expression. It figures. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was ignoring me._

_Well, it’s really easy to misread this guy, I guess...I wouldn’t be the first to be fooled by that exterior._

_These days though, I know better._

_「As Kasamatsu approaches, Kise’s profile enlarges, showing tiny earbuds plugged into his ear. These are connected to an iPod half-hidden in his pocket, playing heavy-bass music.」_

_Ah, there we go._

_「Kasamatsu tugs one of the earbuds out. Kise startles visibly, turning around.」_

_“What the f- oh...senpai. What are you doing here?”_

_“Careful, idiot, you’re on a damn ledge. Get your ass into gear - we’re going to be late for practice.”_

 

**Wonder Festival, (Day 2)**

“Ooh, low blow, Oikawa.” Hanamaki whistled appreciatively from behind the GYU-nikku booth. “Low. Blow. Hey, if I gave you a copy of our PoT doujin, would you bring it around with you? Grabbing that free promo and all that.”

“As if you need the plugging - you guys are almost sold out already, geez.” Tooru couldn’t help the pleased smile that tugged his lips upwards as he bounced his racket on his shoulder. “I look pretty good, don’t I?”

“Yeah, yeah, no need to fish for compliments - I’m sure Yahaba’s already plumped your ego up nice and cushy for the morning.” Hanamaki ignored the doujinka’s indignant spluttering as he grinned up at Tooru. “Can’t wait until Iwaizumi spots you though; he still follows Prince of Tennis weekly. Hell, he still insists on drawing doujinshi for the damn series, despite the number of arguments I’ve been throwing in for Haikyuu lately.”

“He does?” A tiny tendril of anxiety curled around Tooru, which he ruthlessly squashed down. His cosplay costume was simple, but easily recognizable and, most importantly, _comfortable_. “Well, I don’t care what he thi-”

“Ah, G-King.” Tooru turned around to see Akaashi Keiji coming up to them, mismatched eyes crinkled with a smile as he nodded his head in greeting. “Looks like we both had similar ideas when it came to costumes today."

“Rufous,” Tooru returned, grinning. “And great minds think alike after all! You’re doing the Rakuzan version of Akashi?”

“Yes - the Teiko jersey isn’t quite completed, and I didn’t want to rush it just for this convention.” Akaashi shifted the basketball he was holding to rest against his side. “We’d better hope Kurogane is doing something more elaborate, or the judging panel today is going to look very minimalistic.”

“But hot.”

“But hot,” Akaashi agreed, chuckling. “Shall we take a quick photo for Twitter together? I left Bokuto-san arranging my photosets for sale, but I’m rather loathe to leave him at it for too long.”

People were trickling into the fan works section by the time Akaashi and Tooru were done, some unabashedly ogling the pair. Tooru flashed them a disarming smile, flipping his hair for added effect. Atobe Keigo was a natural charmer, with an ego to match - two characteristics that Tooru was only too pleased to play up. Squeezing back into the booth, Tooru tried to keep his attention on the visitors stepping up to their table, captivating them with a quick flash of teeth, or a compliment as he convinced them to buy the merchandise on sale.

Still, as if on a high alert out of his control, he couldn’t help but notice when Iwaizumi finally showed up, looking harried as he lugged two large bags behind GYU-nikku’s counter. And he definitely noticed when Iwazumi, upon settling into his chair properly, caught sight of him, eyes widening slightly, lips parting in surprise.

Tooru snapped his head in the other direction before the heat could creep properly up his neck and betray him, heart hammering a little faster beneath the blue-and-white tennis uniform.

Second-day rush was usually busier than the first day, and Tooru lost track of time between the schmoozing, fan-service and camera clicks. At some point, he had made the obligatory round to the photo wall, where the more professional photographers were waiting with their rigs, enduring the crowds and blatant gawking along the way. He had been cooed at, touched, and stopped for photos every few steps he took, all of it second nature to him by now. Thankfully, no one had had the bad sense to attempt groping this time around - Tooru had nearly broken the hand of the person who had tried that the last time, and narrowly avoided a lawsuit.

Still, he would have some gorgeous pictures of his Atobe, especially from Aone, one of the newer photographers on the scene. His photo angles were well-planned and his posing ideas interesting - Tooru had asked for his card, promising to drop him a message about a potential photo shoot at some point in the future. The light clothing and much looser wig also meant Tooru’s spirits stayed fairly high as he coasted along on con-adrenaline.

As such, the rumbling of his stomach sometime around noon came as a surprise. Matsukawa looked up from where he was idly playing Tsum Tsum on his phone. “Someone’s hungry.”

Yahaba was already rummaging through their bags. “That’s weird; I distinctly remember packing some food along...”

“It’s ok, Yahaba-chan.” That must have been what was in the plastic bag Tooru had accidentally left behind in their hurry to beat the morning rush. “Didn’t someone gift me some mochi earlier? Pass those to me; they’ll do.”

Yahaba eyed him dubiously. “Yeah, no. I’ll go bully Futakuchi into giving me one of the billion packets of chips he always brings along to these things. That should hold us until dinnertime.”

“No, seriously, I’m fine. I’ve got to go to the event hall in a while anyway; maybe I can ask someone else for some water or something-”

“Here.” A bag brimming with chocolate chip cookies was thrusted into Tooru’s line of vision, who grasped it instinctively, blinking down the muscular arm at its owner.

“Ah...eh?”

“You’re too skinny for Atobe as it is already,” Iwaizumi muttered.

“Ho, what’s this - sharing your food gifts with the enemy already?” Hanamaki poked Iwaizumi in the side. “What about your long-suffering, hardworking booth helper, huh?”

“You have your own box, idiot.” Were the tips of Iwaizumi’s ears red? Tooru picked up and nibbled on a particularly large cookie, careful not to spill too many crumbs as he surreptitiously peeked at Iwaizumi through his lashes.

“These…” The cookies were just the right amount of sweet and crumbly, and Tooru swallowed the snarky comeback that had immediately sprung to the forefront in favor of sincere gratitude. “Are really delicious. Thank you, Iwa-chan.”

“Don't finish the whole thing.” Iwaizumi nodded to Yahaba. “Feel free to help yourself to some as well, Yahaba. We’ve got extra.”

“Woah, thanks, Iwaizumi-senpai!”

The sweetness seemed to linger on Tooru’s tongue, all through the cosplay competition (where Kuroo had thankfully shown up at the judge’s table in the full regalia of Metal Gear Solid’s Raiden) until the straggling hours near the end of the convention. Tooru even found himself licking at his lips absentmindedly from time to time, much to his private dismay.

What happened to the Iwaizumi he knew and hate-liked? Not only had he failed to remark on either of his costumes, he’d extended help to Tooru not once, but _twice_ in the span of a single convention. Was he going soft? Was Tooru going delusional? (Probably.)

“I haven’t counted, but it’s pretty safe to say we’ve done pretty well at this event.” Yahaba, oblivious to Tooru’s inner turmoil, grinned victoriously as he locked the metal box they were using to keep their money. “All your prints sold out, as usual, Oikawa-senpai. We finally finished selling all of last year’s Shingekyo doujin, and all the Ookurikara keychains went.”

“That’s not really surprising; your art style is really good.” Iwaizumi closed his sketchpad before stretching his arms over his head, and wasn’t that a sight for sore eyes, Tooru’s traitorous inner conscience whispered. “Clean, easy to follow. You’ve got pretty interesting story concepts too.”

“Scratch that, this is definitely the best con ever - GYU-nikku just praised me.” Yahaba fist-pumped gracelessly before slumping back into his seat, and Tooru wondered if it was rational to be envious of how easily his flatmate had snagged a compliment from Iwaizumi.  “I’m thinking of doing a reprint of the Tourabu illustration book for Comiket; I’ve got a good feeling it’ll sell out at the Tourabu-only event next month. Same goes for your photobook, Oikawa-senpai, if you’re not planning to put together a new one.”

“Probably reprint - I don’t think there’s going to be enough time to shoot some of the upcoming costumes I have planned. But see? I told you your art was good; you really need to stop second-guessing yourself, Yahaba-chan. No buts!” he hastily added as Yahaba opened his mouth. “You ARE a good artist, shhh. Accept it.”

“Okay, okay, I’m good.” Yahaba gave in, clearly still buoyed on exhausted satisfaction. “I’m a good artist, goddammit.”

“That’s the spirit!” Tooru ruffled his hair, laughing as Yahaba swatted at him half-heartedly. “Pass me my duffel? Gonna go change out of this costume.”

“By the way, are you two interested in joining us for dinner?” Matsukawa asked from where he was stuffing the last of his ziplock bags into his suitcase. “‘Us’ meaning myself, Hanamaki and Iwaizumi here, Asahi, Yukie, maybe Nishinoya if he tags along with Asahi. Nothing too fancy, but we might do a quick sketch swap for fun.”

“I’m in!” Yahaba’s eyes were round with excitement and Tooru couldn’t help but laugh at his flatmate’s barely-contained glee.

“Alas, you guys can only have Yahaba-chan - I’ve got prior dinner plans with a couple of cosplayer friends while they’re in town. Make sure Iwa-chan doesn’t bully him too much, ok?”

“Don’t worry, Oikawa - Iwaizumi saves his bullying solely for you.” Hanamaki grinned lazily, not even bothering to avoid Iwaizumi’s irritated whack to his arm. “They say that ‘hate’ is the truest form of love - yo, Iwazumi, you should draw something with that theme.”

“I’ll draw you dead in the next minute if you don’t finish packing up those postcards.”

“Looks like he bullies you just as hard, Makki.” Tooru hoisted his bag higher on his shoulder. “Do you need me to take anything with me, Yahaba-chan?”

“You’re taking that duffel with you, right? Mmm, I think I can manage then - have fun, Oikawa-senpai.”

“Yeah, see ya, Oikawa. Comiket in August?"

“Yup, very likely. See you, Mattsun, Makki,” Tooru hesitated for a second, before biting the bullet. “Bye, Iwa-chan. Thanks again for the cookies!”  

If Iwaizumi had said something in reply, it was lost amongst the post-con chatter as Tooru fled for the restroom before his bravado failed him.

\---

“He drew Atobe Keigo in Asahi’s sketchbook,” Yahaba said later, back in their apartment. “Doing your ridiculous peace sign and winking.”

Tooru paused in the middle of folding his costume into a clothing bag. “Seriously?”

“Yup. I was sitting beside him. Stole a peek at his work.”

“Well.” Tooru floundered, clutching the bag to him as his mind raced. “You’re probably overthinking it, Yahaba-chan - he was just keeping Atobe in-character. You know Ore-sama would do that.”

“It was kind of obviously you.” Yahaba grinned suddenly. “Hey, I bet Asahi will put it up on his Instagram by tomorrow. Want his Insta handle?”

“No!” Tooru flinched at the vehemence of his reply, tossing his head to hide his flustered expression. “He probably botched it anyway - this kind of handsomeness can’t be captured in pen lines, much less Iwa-chan’s brute ones.”

“‘Brute pen lines’, huh? Guess that means I’ll be keeping the extra GYU-nikku doujinshi I got from Hanamaki-san earlier then. Maybe even resell it.”

“Huh? No, wait - that’s mine - oh my god, stop being so mean, Yahaba-chan!”

\---

The sketch _was_ in G-King’s signature pose, as a number of commenters helpfully pointed out all over Asahi’s Instagram post.

Tooru hesitated, then screencapped and saved the image into his phone.

 

_\---[[GYU-nikku] ‘HITO NO TOU MADE’, 1st revision, page 5]---_

_「A group of girls squeal, clutching printed posters and magazine covers with Kise on them. Kise waves at them, sauntering over to where they are while dribbling a ball. Moriyama, who is warming up beside Kasamatsu, looks dreamily at the group」_

_“Ah, cute girls are seriously the best after all, the best~”_

_「Kasamatsu smacks Moriyama over the head」“Oi, focus on your stretching. It’s not like they are here for you.”_

_“Yeah, yeah, doesn’t mean I can’t ogle anyway.” 「Moriyama sighs forlornly」”He sure is popular, huh?”_

_“Hn.”_

_“Not going to grumble about it this time?”_

_“What’s the use? The sky is blue, the grass is green, Kise is popular. Not worth wasting my breath on.”_

_「Moriyama grins and claps Kasamatsu’s shoulder」_

_“Awww, look at our captain maturing and everything.”_

_“Shut your trap or I’ll show how ‘mature’ my fist is.”_

_It was the truth though, I thought to myself. As one of the Generation of Miracles, Kise’s was a well-known name even before he had ever stepped foot into Kaijou. Add his modelling portfolio to that, and it really wasn’t surprising that Kise would be so well adored by the public he caters to._

_On top of everything, he’s taller than me, damn him._

_「A panel of Kasamatsu’s wry face.」_

_I hate to admit it, but that’s something I would probably never achieve. Not just the height, but that kind of popularity or skills in general._

 

**MARCH**

“Ah, it _is_ you. Hey.”

“Eh?” Tooru looked up from where he was admiring a display of Hatsune Miku Nendroids to see Iwaizumi standing beside him, a knapsack slung across his back. The incongruity of seeing the other man without a convention happening around them was a little jarring, and Tooru couldn’t help the surprise that flashed across his face. “Oh, Iwa-chan! What are you doing here- oh. That’s a dumb question, I guess.”

Iwaizumi shrugged easily. “The store manager asked if we had any more copies of ‘Unchanging Blue’ and ‘SHOT-FIRE’. Thought I’d bring the stock myself since I have the day off.” He surveyed Tooru, but the look seemed a little less judgemental, a little more amused. “Doesn’t look like you’re here to buy things though. Unless you really are in cosplay twenty-four-seven.”

“Tsk, Iwa-chan, you should never listen to the Internet; I only cosplay twelve hours a day, three days a week.” Iwaizumi’s startled chuckle was a warm sound on a particularly cold morning, and Tooru couldn’t help the small smile it teased out of him. “I’m actually doing a location shoot outside along the alleyway in a bit. I’m a bit early though, it’s chilly outside, and this lovely doujinshi shop was right here, so I thought I’d come in and browse for a bit while waiting.” Tooru snapped his fingers. “That reminds me; thank you for helping Yahaba-chan, by the way. He said you gave him a lot of good advice on how to get his doujinshi into stores like these. I think you’ve gone and fired him up even more now than when he first started.”

“It’s nothing; just basic information anyone else could have shared.” Iwaizumi rubbed the back of his neck. He looked good, comfortable and in his element amongst the stacks of comics and doujinshis around them. “So, repeating Mitsutada, huh?”

“Not you too, ugh. This is the jumpsuit version from the ELECT’ MMD - it’s different!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Is your head going to be fine?”

“My head is always fine! Sheesh, Iwa-chan, I’m disappointed. You could at least produce a more original insult.”

Iwaizumi huffed a laugh. “No, dumbass. I meant the wig. It gave you a headache at WonFes, right?”

“Oh. Oh! Wow, Iwa-chan, you remembered?” This time, Tooru caught the surprise before it showed, batting his eyelashes ostentatiously instead. “Awww, I didn’t know you were worried about little ol’ me.”

“...I take it back. Your head can drop off for all I care.”

“Nooo, no take-backs!” Tooru laughingly ducked the half-hearted punch in his direction, delighted at the discomfiture on Iwaizumi’s face. “I’ll be okay. This is a different wig, can’t you see the difference?”

“Actually, if I squint a little...no.”

“Yo, Oikawa.” Kuroo stuck his head in the doorway, ignoring the curious looks thrown his way. “Get your ass out here. Tsukki’s got his rig up and ready, and I’ve got a thing to get to later that I don’t wanna be late to.”

“Yeah, be out with you in a bit.” Heaving a sigh at the inevitable chill, Tooru tugged the zipper on the front of the jumpsuit down, careful to stop it just beneath his chest. “I pulled it up earlier since it was cold, but this is the way it looks in the MMD, I promise,” he informed the doujinka. “ Have you watched it before? The ELECT one with six costume changes?”

“I have.” Iwaizumi’s voice was wheezy around the edges, but Tooru didn’t have the time to pay it any mind, steeling himself as he turned to the other man.

“Alright then, do your worst, I’m ready. What’s wrong now? Pocket zips too wide? Badge too high?”

“What?” Iwaizumi blinked, bewildered. “‘What’s wrong’?”

“Y’know,” Tooru flapped his hand impatiently. “Do your thing where you point out something off on my costume. Hurry up, I don’t want Tsukki to come in here and maul me for delaying him.”

“I don’t - oh fuck.” Iwaizumi stared at him, eyes widening. “Oh _fuck._ I _do._ ”

“Oikawaaaaaa. Do you need me to go and drag your ass out?”

“Geez, I’m coming, I’m coming! Sorry, Iwa-chan, no time - you can rip this apart another time, leave a comment on the photos when they’re posted, maybe.” It was unfair how nice Iwaizumi looked, even when he was caught off-guard. He probably hadn’t expected Tooru to offer himself up for inspection the way he had, but the way Tooru figured it, it was better for his self-esteem to be prepared to take the hits than be fired at unexpectedly.

In hindsight though, it was probably for the best that he didn’t manage to prod holes in Tooru’s armor this time, literally and metaphorically. Tsukishima was a fantastic photographer, but he was also too impatient to deal with Tooru’s tiny confidence crises. Kuroo would just laugh.

Really, Tooru thought ruefully as he hastened to where the two of them were waiting, he needed better friends.

 

_\---[[GYU-nikku] ‘HITO NO TOU MADE’, 1st revision, page 6-7]---_

_「Moriyama nudges Kasamatsu’s shoulder.」“Remember when we used to hate his guts?”_

_It was hard to forget, really. It wasn’t that long ago that I resented his blase attitude towards basketball, as if mocking the rest of us struggling to achieve even half the brilliance he displayed on court._

_But we, I know better now. And if I’ve grown, he’s grown more._

_「Kasamatsu huffs half-heartedly.」“I still hate his guts.”_

_“Haha, yeah right you do. You like him, don’t yo_ ~~_shit shit shit argh FUCK what do I do_ ~~

 

**APRIL: SportSUMMIT, Sports-Only Event**

“Fuck, we made it.”

Tooru looked up from where he was idly flipping through manga to grin at Hanamaki as Yahaba chirped a cheerful greeting at the pair rushing up. “Look who’s finally here. What happened?"

“Murphy’s Law, you know the usual. Our usual printers botched up one set of posters like a fucking boss. Pretty much spent most of the morning getting them fixed.” Hanamaki grimaced, ripping open his suitcase and tossing rapped files and stacks onto the table. “Thanks for getting our booth cleaned up, by the way.”

Tooru waved the thanks away. “We were already done with ours anyway. And your text message sounded super dire.”

Iwaizumi froze in the midst of arranging items on their table. “You have his number?”

“I am indeed in possession of Oikawa’s number, yes,” Hanamaki said breezily. “How did you think I managed to text ahead? Here, put these price signs on the left, chop chop, time is money.”

It had been awhile since Tooru had foregone cosplaying at a convention; he usually skipped smaller events altogether if they didn't suit his purposes. 'Only events’ weren’t as big as their large-scale anime/manga counterparts; for one, they usually revolved around specific genres, mangas or couple ships. The venues also tended to be smaller and more merchandise-focused, leaving little allowances for cosplayers in terms of space.

Given the surge in popularity of current sports manga series though, SportSUMMIT was considerably larger than most only-events, even managing to put together a panel with two prominent mangakas. With the type of doujinshi Yahaba drew, it was only natural that he’d want to book a space at this particular event, and far be it for Tooru to refuse his flatmate’s request for an extra pair of hands on the day itself. And so, instead of dealing with fans and cameras, Tooru found himself handling booth sales, checking stock and keeping track of their cash while Yahaba answered questions about his art in between signing copies of his work. The reversal was a nice change, and Tooru couldn’t help feeling satisfied with letting Yahaba take the spotlight for once.

“Pst, you’ve got the whole proud soccer mom vibe going on right now, in case you weren’t aware.”

“Please, Makki. I’d be a hot soccer mom. The sexiest. The type all the jocks would want to-”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, you’d be pretty bomb. Still a soccer mom though.”

“Mmmm.” The two of them watched Yahaba, where he was enthusiastically chatting with a girl who was browsing through a copy of his work. “Feels like it was only yesterday that he decided to try his hand at creating a doujin for Eyeshield 21. Look how far we’ve come since then.”  

“Ah, Eyeshield 21, good times.” Hanamaki wiped away an imaginary tear. “He seems to have grown into his own quite nicely though. Good job, Mama-kawa.”

“Feh, I didn’t do anything. It’s all him.”

Hanamaki laughed.“Sure you didn’t. Yahaba told me how you pretty much insisted he share your booth at major cons when he first started out. That’s a pretty big boost; those booths aren’t cheap. And you didn’t even let him pay all of his allotted half of the expenses.”

Tooru pulled a face. “Ugh, Yahaba-chan talks too much at times. It was a win-win situation - he handled most of the sales when I was busy. Come to think of it, I’ve no idea how I managed without him before.”

“Fair enough. Also, you’ve got to admit your name is a pretty big draw; having G-King publically endorse his stuff is pretty good promotion. What Yahaba does with that exposure is up to him, but you can’t deny you pull in the crowd to at least look. A lot of new doujinkas don’t get that kind of hype right off the starting block.”

“Awww, Makki, keep up the sweet talk, and I’ll think about giving you a signed print free of charge.”

“Oh, it’s not just me.” Smirking, Hanamaki pointed surreptitiously at Iwaizumi, who was himself talking to a few interested customers. “That guy there?  He’s got your cosplay photos saved on his phone.”

“Haha, nice try. _He_ clearly doesn’t even like my cosplay.”

“Oh trust me, he does.” Hanamaki waggled his eyebrows. “You didn’t hear it from me, but hand on my heart, I’m telling the truth. He was also all ears when Yahaba was spilling info about how he got started, just so you know.”

“But he always picks my costumes apart!”

“He’s just shit at making small talk. Funny how he’s so eloquent in writing and drawing, but can’t hold a casual conversation to save his life.”

“He’s conversing just fine now,” Tooru said dubiously as Iwaizumi chuckled at something one of the girls said, eyes crinkling. Iwaizumi had a nice laugh, low and warm as he leant forward, extending his sketchpad towards the girl who had spoken with a jut to his chin that suggested a friendly challenge. The sight, only augmented by how damn good Iwaizumi looked in his black t-shirt, forearms large and muscular, was too perfect. Tooru had to look away, an unexpected wave of jealousy washing over him as he struggled to keep his face impassive, all too aware of Hanamaki’s amusement beside him.

“Huh, interesting. Most interesting.”

“There’s nothing interesting about-”

“Excuse me, but aren’t you G-King-san?” A tentative voice from the front of the booth, and Tooru snapped his attention back to the group of girls peering at him. “Would it be ok if we took a quick picture with you?”

“With pretty girls such as yourselves? It’d be more than ok; just let me stand up.”

Hanamaki’s eyes were knowing as Tooru scrambled to his feet, already smiling one of the nicest smiles in his arsenal. By the time he had sent the girls off, cooing over the selfies they had taken with him and a few wallet prints, the second wave of curious convention attendees had arrived, bringing with them questions, requests and money. It was a while before the traffic slowed enough for Tooru to sit back without someone clamoring for attention, by which time the event’s sole art panel that Yahaba had wanted to attend was due to start.

“You’ll be ok, right, Oikawa-senpai, minding the booth?”

“Please, Yahaba-chan, I’ve done this for ages. It’s offensive that you're even implying that I can’t handle boothing at an event as small as this. Now, shoo - if you don’t go now, you’re not going to get a good seat.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” Yahaba turned expectantly to Iwaizumi. “Iwaizumi-san, are you coming as well?”

“Nah, I think I’ll pass. You go on ahead.”

“Are you sure? I thought you said earlier you wanted to hear Murata-sensei explain his process behind creating dynamic scenes for One-Punch Man.”

“Yeah, I’m good. Besides, someone had to watch our booth, since Hanamaki wants to go grab a bite to eat.”

“Yes. Yes I do. Want to get food, that is.” Hanamaki’s face was completely straight as he nodded, pushing his chair back. “Maybe even stop by Issei’s booth on the way back. Hang out there for a bit. Elope. Never come back.”

“Haha, very funny, asshole.”

The people traffic slowed after that, as expected - traffic during con panels were always a little easier as everyone squeezed into the event rooms to listen to the invited guests. A few people still wandered up and down the booth rows, but there was plenty of time for Tooru to update their stock book, tally the cash in their money box and discreetly indulge in a quick snack.

“You’re not cosplaying today.”

“Hmm?” Tooru stopped nibbling on his onigiri in favor of looking drolly at Iwaizumi, who was seated closer than he’d thought. “Very astute of you, Iwa-chan - I’m glad you finally noticed! I was worried that that old-man attitude was starting to affect your vision.”

Iwaizumi’s eye-roll was practically palpable. “Hey, for all I know, you could be cosplaying some obscure character from some game or another. Or doing the casual version of someone from a Nico Nico MMD again.”

Oikawa glanced down at his outfit: an unbuttoned cardigan over a striped long-sleeved shirt, paired with dark jeans. “Awww, are you saying I look good enough to seem like I’m in cosplay? So sweet!”

“You know what? Forget I said anything.”

“Nope, I’m definitely going to commit this memory: the day Iwa-chan actually complimented me. At a convention, no less. It’s almost as good as winning a cosplay award.” Tooru leant away from the half-hearted swat. “You really need to stop using punches as some kind of coping mechanism, but I suppose that’s the base nature of a brute for you~”

Iwaizumi looked close to actually punching Oikawa, if the tightness of those wonderfully broad shoulders were any indication, so Tooru hurried on in a pacifying tone. “I _did_ actually consider cosplaying today, but changed my mind at the last minute. First, it’s not a large enough con to really merit a costume per say. Plus, I'm kinda jet-lagged from a con in Taiwan - the flight back was terrible, couldn’t catch a wink of sleep at all. My eyes are still a bit swollen; hence, these,” tapping the square framed glasses perched on his nose. “Thank goodness I always look cute, or these would look unmentionably nerdy on me.”

“They _do_ look nerdy, Trashykawa.”

“Wha- take that crappy name back! I thought we were working on having a civilised conversation here!”

“If you’re going to insist on that banal ‘Iwa-chan’ nickname, I figured it’s only fair that I return the favor in kind.” Iwaizumi’s smirk was smug as he leant back in his chair, arms folded. “ _Trashykawa."_

“You could at least call me ‘G-King’!”

“‘G-King of Nerds’? Too long - I think ‘Trashykawa’ fits just fine. Or maybe,” Iwaizumi pursed his lips in thought. “‘Idiotkawa’?...”

“Oh my god, Iwa-chan, so mean! I’m not even in cosplay today and you’re still bullying me?"

“Um, about that.” The unusually serious tone tugged Tooru out of his playful 'funk' to look at Iwaizumi. The smile had dropped off the doujinka’s face, and he coughed, looking embarrassed as he sat up properly. “Look, I’m sorry. Really. I wasn’t...I didn’t know that I was doing it. The ‘poking holes’ thing, I mean. I _knew_ what I was saying, but it wasn’t, I didn’t meant for it to be ‘criticism’. I’m just...I zoom in on details, that’s what I do as an artist. We focus on the small things. They’re off-hand comments, not things I actually expect you to fix. Hell, some of them probably can’t be logically fixed - sometimes the detailing mangakas draw don’t even make sense...” He scrubbed a hand across his face before ducking his head in front of Tooru. “I’m really sorry about that. _God_ , I must have seemed like such as asshole.”

Tooru was certain his eyes was at least twice their normal size behind his lenses as he goggled at Iwaizumi, head still down in the semblance of an apology bow. “I-Iwa-chan, oh my god, straighten up, people will stare-”

“Do you accept my apology?” Iwaizumi didn’t budge, despite Tooru pushing and tugging frantically at his shoulders.

“You don’t really have to apologize-”

“Do you?”

“Yes! Yes, okay, I accept your apology, get up, Iwa-chan!” Something in Tooru loosened when Iwaizumi finally lifted his head, and he slumped slightly, breath leaving him in a huge sigh. “You didn’t have to do that. I mean, sure, it was infuriating, but your comments help me to correct things, remind me that I need to improve further-”

“Hey, stop that.” Iwaizumi’s hold was warm where he had grabbed Tooru’s arm. “You’re already damn good at what you do, okay? You’re...well, you’re a skilled cosplayer. You shouldn’t be paying attention to what a random doujinka says. What do I know about cosplay anyway, right?”

“I..” The honesty in Iwaizumi’s eyes were too much for Tooru to handle, and he faltered, averting his own eyes to stare at where his own hands were nervously twisting in his lap. “O-of course I’m not affected by what you say, silly Iwa-chan. I. Um. I-”

Iwaizumi’s smile was small, but as steady as his hand where it still gripped Tooru. “Thank you for hearing me out at least - I really needed to get that off my chest. It’s been bugging me for weeks now; I really wasn’t aware that I was doing it.” He laughed a little, sheepish. “I’m not always the best with people; Hanamaki can confirm that. Hell, I would have done a lot worse than just blow up at me too if someone jabbed at me every single con. You have been remarkably patient for someone who has put up with, well - me.”

“That’s not, you’re...There’s someone trying to get your attention, Iwa-chan.”

“Oh, whoops.” Tooru could feel Iwaizumi’s hand fall away as his focus shifted, could hear him apologizing to the teenager patiently waiting in front of his table, then answering his queries. And still, Tooru stayed staring sightlessly down until his vision blurred and his eyes stung, hot in the corners. Something had shifted within, a weight had moved and Tooru was left clutching onto affirmation he never knew he wanted as much as he did until now.

But this was not the place, not the time for these things.

He closed his eyes, allowed the tears to form before he took a deep breath, reaching for the professional persona that has long been his failsafe in times like these. A quick dab at the corner of his eyelids, a long exhale, and G-King lifted his head, airy smile in place.

Iwaizumi was still engrossed with the customer, thank god for small mercies.

 

_\---[[GYU-nikku] ‘HITO NO TOU MADE’, 2nd revision, page 8]---_

_“Oi, Kise, stop goofing off already! We’re gonna start drills soon!”_

_「Kise turns, sees Kasamatsu, and smiles, waving.」“Yeah, be right there!”_

_「A panel of Kise apologizing prettily to the girls, sparkles and rose screentones garlanding the scene. Kobori jogs up to the pair.」“Oh, what’s this?_ ~~_Oik_ ~~ _He’s surprisingly docile today.”_

_“He listens better these days.”「Moriyama grins.」”Especially to a particular person, eh?”_

_「Kasamatsu frowns, body tensing.」“What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_“Well, who cares, as long as it gets practice started on time.” 「Kobori shrugs.」”There’s only, what, three more practices before we leave? Guess Kasamatsu doesn’t really need the extra headache.”_

_I had put the idea of graduation out of my mind, postponed the idea of leaving this team, this gym, (that person) as long as I could._

_Until we stood on its threshold, looking into a future we could not yet see._

_“Woah, Kasamatsu-senpai looks like he’s actually thinking!”_

_“Shut up, asshole!” 「Kasamatsu flings a basketball at Kise’s head; it bounces off with a ‘boing!’」_

_“Waaaa!”_

~~_Out of character? Kise sounding too much like Oikawa?_ ~~

 

**MAY**

The tinkling of the bell hanging over the door, along with the brief surge in the roaring from the storm outside, announced the presence of a customer in the modestly-sized art supply store. Tooru groaned internally at the lost momentum, hands stopping where they were carefully modifying a belt buckle with sculpting clay. Still, work was work, and he chirped out the standard salesperson greeting.

“Welcome to Uematsu Art Store~”

Whoever it was seemed content to browse the shelves unassisted; it was possible that he or she was simply someone seeking refuge from the downpour. Tooru couldn’t blame them; even through the muffled insulation of the store, the rain slamming against the sidewalks and walls sounded ominous.

After a brief while of waiting to see if he was needed, Tooru turned back to working on his prop, humming along with the piano music that filtered through the store. He had just gotten one whorl the way he wanted it when a chuckle, short and amused reached his ears.

“I thought the voice earlier sounded familiar.”

Tooru blinked at Iwaizumi, decked in a hoodie darkened by rain and loose jeans. Wet, his normally spiky hair was flatter, portions of it stuck to his forehead. The effect was unexpectedly cute, and Tooru had to forcefully remind himself that reaching out and ruffling Iwaizumi's hair was a Very Bad Idea. Instead, he swapped the fond smile for his charmingly professional one, leaning over the counter. “My very favorite Iwa-chan! How can I help you today?”

“Don’t do that; it’s weird.”

“How rude - it’s my best salesperson attitude. I’ll have you know it’s earned me Employee of the Month twice in a row so far.” Ignoring the skeptical snort, Tooru wiped his hands off on his apron before he started ringing up Iwaizumi’s purchases: a few Copic markers in different shades, a sheaf of standard paper, and several sheets of washi paper on the counter. “That’ll be 2740 yen. Are these for your doujinshi work?”

“Nah. The markers I’m just out of, and the washi paper is for a project for one of my clients.” At Tooru’s inquisitive look, Iwaizumi added as he dug around his pocket for his wallet, “I’m a graphic designer, so I work from contract to contract.”

“Ah, makes sense, I guess. ” Tooru accepted Iwaizumi’s money with a distracted ‘thanks’, sorting them neatly into the cash register before putting the items into a paper bag. “Come to think of it, for someone of your profession, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before."

“I usually go to the Sekaido close to my place, but they didn’t quite have the designs I wanted this time around.” Instead of leaving immediately, Iwaizumi lingered at the counter, which Tooru supposed was only reasonable, given the storm still raging outside. He glanced at where Tooru’s prop sat innocuously by the side. “Should you be doing that while you’re working?”

“Manager-san doesn’t mind when I work on my own projects during the slow hours.” Tooru gestured at the row of packaged clay arranged neatly by the side of the counter. “Plus, it’s a good way to promote some of the craft material the store sells, especially when people ask about what I’m doing. I usually have some extra clay on hand I let customers try out if they’re interested.”

“Makes sense. What is that supposed to be?”

“Kasen Kanesada’s belt buckle, if it can even be called that.” Tooru pulled the character reference sheet he had created from behind the counter, rotating it so Iwaizumi could see. “Aside from aesthetics, the whole piece is impractical. I’m going to have to embed pins into the back of it if I want the sash to stay in place, which nullifies its purpose as a buckle altogether. Even getting large enough pictures to see the details was a pain, so I ended up sketching it out myself.”

Apart from a thoughtful hum, Iwaizumi was silent, eyes moving between Tooru’s half-completed buckle and the design sheet he had cobbled together from Internet pictures, official art and sketches. Tooru watched him, worrying at his lip. “If it looks a little too small, it’s because I’m rescaling it to look good on me. And the loops might look a bit big, but that’s because I want them to be visible in photos-”

“Relax, I’m not going to chew you out or anything,” Iwaizumi interrupted, lips twisting ruefully. ‘I said I’d cut back on the criticism, didn’t I? And this? This looks promising. You’re...well, you’re pretty talented, Oikawa. The drawing itself isn’t bad either.”

There was a brief silence, shattered when Iwaizumi grinned, wide and amused. “Okay, I did say I’d reduce the unnecessary comments, but I’m not sure the flycatcher look is really working for you.”

Tooru immediately snapped his mouth close, furiously willing the heat staining his cheeks to fade back beneath his skin. “Excuse you, I _always_ look good.”

“Uh huh, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Just because you’re not as pretty as me doesn’t mean you have to be jealous, Iwa-chan.” There were two more reference sheets under the counter for the rest of Kasen’s costume. Tooru looked at them, and made a split-second decision before pulling them out and spreading them across the counter. “Here.”

The doujinka looked up at Tooru, eyebrow raised. “What’s this?”

“This is my official approval for you to rip this design to shreds.” At Iwaizumi’s incredulous stare, Tooru hastily re-worded his statement. “I mean, these are my notes and the breakdown for my Kasen costume, and I thought you could correct any bits I might have dissected inaccurately?...”

The exasperated sigh came as expected. “I just told you-”

“That you’d reduce the criticism of my cosplays, yes, yes, I heard you the first time. I’m pretty, not dumb. But…” Tooru learnt forward, slamming lightly on the counter for emphasis.  “Now is when I need that criticism, Iwa-chan! Especially since I’m still in the process of putting this together. Tell me what I can improve and I’ll see if it can actually be changed.”

Iwaizumi’s brow furrowed, sharp eyes searching Tooru’s face. Well, he wasn’t going to find anything but earnest sincerity. “Why me though? I can’t be the only one who’s pointed out minor errors in your cosplay.”

“It’s…” _It’s different coming from you._ Tooru sighed, wondering how to put frame the sentiment into words without sounding weirdly creepy. “I trust you, alright? You’ve never actually been wrong per say, and I don’t think you’ve ever commented to be truly mean.” He held out a hand to forestall Iwaizumi’s protests. “Think of it this way - it’d make me feel more confident in my crafting later. And you’ll be helping me eliminate potential mistakes before I make them. Though, please make your edits in pencil so I can compare them against my original ones; some things really can’t be recreated realistically.”

Iwaizumi hesitated. “You sure?”

Pushing his pencil over, Tooru flashed Iwaizumi a challenging smirk. “Deal me your best hits. I can take it.”

“Well then, if you insist. For starters, If you look at the _ginko_ design here, very minor nit-pick, but it could be curled upwards a little more…”

Iwaizumi vocalized the changes he was making until another customer came up to the cash register and Tooru was forced to do his job properly, answering questions about different types of ink and paper thickness as other people came up to the counter with queries. Even then, the doujinka stood slightly to the side of the counter, looking for all the world like a person who was diligently applying for a membership card with how he was hunched over the sheets of paper. He glanced up at Tooru occasionally, quiet and thoughtful, but the looks were fleeting, and Tooru was too busy to ruminate over what they might mean.

Tooru had just thanked a customer for patronizing their store when Iwaizumi’s phone beeped. The other man glanced at the tiny screen, tapped out a quick reply before straightening up. “Hey, Oikawa, I’ve got to run. But here.”

The sheets were detailed with Iwaizumi’s surprisingly neat handwriting, large and easy to read.There were less edits than Tooru had anticipated, given how thoroughly the doujinka had scrutinized the design. Relieved, he beamed at Iwaizumi. “This is pretty amazing, Iwa-chan - thank you! I’ll be sure to credit you when I shoot this costume.”

Iwaizumi seemed strangely at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing a few times. “It’s no big deal,” he finally replied tersely. “Don’t worry about it. See you.”

“Wait, Iwa-chan, at least take an-” He was out the door before Tooru could offer him an umbrella against the rain he could still hear outside. Huffing, Tooru hoped the bag he had tucked Iwaizumi’s purchases into held up against the weather; it would be a shame for the supplies to be ruined before it reached the artist’s home.

The brief annoyance faded as he looked down at the character sheets again, tucking them back into the file he kept under the counter. He hadn’t been lying when he said Iwaizumi’s edits would make him feel more confident about creating the costume. But, more than that, there was something inexplicably satisfying about obtaining Iwaizumi’s approval in terms of his work.

Suddenly, Kasen seemed less like a headache, and more like a promise.

 

_\---[[GYU-nikku] ‘HITO NO TOU MADE’, 2nd revision, page 11]---_

_「Kasamatsu taps his foot, sitting casually on the bench inside the locker room.」_

_I wondered what that was about earlier..._

_「Flashback panel to Kise gripping Kasamatsu’s arm, face uncharacteristically solemn: “Senpai, I need to talk to you after practice. Please?”」_

_He doesn’t usually look that serious about anything but basketball._

_“Hey.”「Kise takes a seat beside Kasamatsu, towel around his neck」 “Sorry for keeping you waiting.”_

_「Kasamatsu snorts」“What took you so long? Pretty much everyone else’s left already.”_

_“...I was kind of hoping that’d happen.”_

_Huh?_

_“Huh?”_

_“I_ ~~ _wanted to confess_~~ ~~ _tell you how much I admire you_  ~~ ~~_GOD FUCKING DAMMIT_~~ _kinda wanted to talk to you, one-on-one.”_

_“One-on-one? Why the hell, Kise, if you had wanted to play a quick round, you could have just said-”_

_“Senpai, what do you think might have changed if I never_ ~~_met you_ ~~ _came to Kaijou?”_

 

**AUGUST: Comic Market [Comiket] (Day 2)**

“Hide me.”

“What - Oikawa, what the fuck-”

“Hide me!” Tooru hissed, ducking into GYU-nikku’s tiny booth and attempting to squat behind Iwaizumi’s form as he frantically gathered the long sleeves of his kimono close to him. “Put your brute size to good use for once, Iwa-chan.”

“Stop trying to climb under my cha- hello, can I help you?”

“Thank you, but I rather doubt you would be able to assist me.” Even in his crouch, Tooru couldn’t help but pull a face at Ushijima’s blunt tone, likely accompanied with an equally dismissive gesture from the tall cosplayer. “Oikawa, I know you’re in there. Stop acting like a child.”

Even without seeing Iwaizumi’s face, Tooru could practically feel the doujinka bristling. “Hey, look here, whoever you are - ”

Squaring his jaw, Tooru rose to his feet with as much regality as he could muster, placing his hands on his hips to add to his presence. “First and foremost, have the manners to refer to me by my cosplay handle, _Ace-sama._  Also, for the last time, _no._ I don’t care how many times you ask me - I’m not going to change my mind.”

“Yeah, you need to stop harassing Oikawa-sen, er, G-King.” Tooru’s lips curved upwards at Yahaba’s indignant voice. 

“It’s not my intent to harass G-King." Ushijima frowned slightly. "I apologize for the lack of formality - I had assumed we are fairly well acquainted by this point-”

“We are not.”

“And I simply don’t understand why you’re so adverse to my suggestion,” Ushijima continued, unperturbed. “We are, after all, skilled cosplayers who happen to be cosplaying the two halves of a popular character ship; it is only natural that we at least take a quick photoshoot together at the cosplay hall.”

“If I had known you were going to do fucking Doumeki, I would have saved my Watanuki for another event,” Tooru muttered, crossing his arms. A small crowd of curious onlookers were starting to gather, some whispering excitedly to each other at seeing two well-known cosplayers interact, others cooing at the visual manifestation of their fandom pair.

“Why? This is a great opportunity for us to finally work together again.”

“Yeah, no thanks.” Tooru made to turn away, but Ushijima’s grip was faster, vise-like around his wrist. Grimacing, Tooru shook it off. “Here, let me frame it in simple words: I do _not_ want to shoot with you again.”

“Why not? The Fai-Kurogane photoset we did was well received by the public.”

“And you listened to absolutely _zero_ of my input on it, you asshole.”

“I did listen.” Ushijima looked surprised at the accusation. “And I did take them into consideration. I merely concluded that mine were better, angle- and scene-wise.”

“Case in point,” Tooru muttered, rubbing at his forehead. “Look, I don’t care that you’re famous-”

“As are yourself.”

“But I would much prefer not to repeat the experience of my directions being repeatedly ignored. There are at least two others Watanukis walking around today who looked semi-decent; go boss one of them around instead.”

“One photo.” Ushijima held up a finger, face unyielding. “If you’ll consent to just one photo, I will not bother you any further during this event. Is that amenable?”

“He doesn’t owe you anything, you ass-”

“One.” Tooru overrode Iwaizumi’s interjection, meeting Ushijima’s eyes evenly. “In my booth. There is no way you’re dragging me to the photog area; I refuse to be stopped a million times for photos with you.”

“Under my direction.”

“Fine, under your damn direction, whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

“A moment - I’ll call Shirabu to bring his rig over.”

“He has a personal photographer?”

“He probably has a personal everything,” Tooru heard Yahaba whisper back to Hanamaki as he moved from Iwaizumi’s booth into his own. Ushijima entered right behind him as he talked to someone on his cellphone, unfazed by Tooru’s glare. Probably too used to it, the bastard. He could already hear the buzz of excited chatter as people stopped to ogle them - his scowl probably looked in-character, damn it. And, as much as he disliked the other cosplayer, Tooru couldn’t deny that they complemented each other well visually,  their aesthetic enhanced by their individual commitment to perfection.

Shirabu arrived quickly enough with the air of someone used to Ushijima’s random summons, bringing with him makeshift reflectors. Tooru pinched his nose, already regretting agreeing to this. Canon art of Watanuki and Doumeki always had the two in fairly intimate positions; given Ushijima’s stickler-for-accuracy trait, Tooru was sure he had a fairly good idea of what they’d be doing.

“Hurry this up - you’re blocking my booth’s business.”

“Mmm.” Ushijima was flicking through his cellphone again, finally stopping and extending it to show Tooru the image pulled up on the tiny screen. “I take it you’re familiar with this particular pose?”

The picture Ushijima had selected was fairly simple, position-wise, with Watanuki cradled in Doumeki’s arms, his own hands tugging at Doumeki’s hand and sleeves. What really made the image compelling were the contrast of the elaborate kimono patterns and the expression on both the characters’ faces - Doumeki stoic and protective as he looked out of the frame, while Watanuki stared out at the viewer with haunted eyes. It was a good choice, one that Tooru himself might have picked if he were setting up a shot for this pair. As it was, he huffed irritably, tugging the other cosplayer in front of the white backdrop of the booth.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Large arms immediately wrapped around his torso, and Tooru relaxed into the hold, tilting his head in anticipation of Ushijima’s hand. Fingers delicately rested themselves at the corner of his eye, Ushijima’s palm warm along his cheek. He tuned out the delighted squeals, attention focused instead on how best to grip Ushijima’s sleeve to show off the length of his fingers.

“Lean a little more on my arm.” The hand against Tooru’s head applied the slightest bit of pressure, and Tooru moved with it. “Move your hand further up my sleeve.”

“This is exactly where Watanuki’s hand is in that image.” Moving his foot back, Tooru stepped on one of Ushijima’s toes in warning. “You don’t want to start arguing with me right now - I know I’m right. Shirabu-chan, is my body curled in enough?”

“Yup, it looks good. Just…” Shirabu carefully ran fingers through Tooru’s wig, tugged a little at Tooru’s kimono until the cosplayer could feel the cold air of the hall kiss his collarbone. He registered some movement to his right as Shirabu adjusted the drape of Ushijima’s sleeve to his liking. “Okay, that looks good. Stay just like that…”

Tooru barely blinked as the flash went off, widening his eyes and pursing his lips appropriately as Shirabu snapped away with his camera. There would probably be at least ten other hastily-taken pictures from the crowd, but they would all probably look good. As much as Tooru disliked working with Ushijima, he had to acknowledge that the other cosplayer was ridiculously photogenic and well-versed with how to pose his body. On top of that, Shirabu was a skilled photographer - there was no doubt that this shot, as hastily put together as it was, would look magnificent enough for Tooru to upload to his own fan page.

“You’re a little stiff. Lean back on me more.”

“If you drop me, I will fucking kill you.” Tooru pressed back against Ushijima, enough so that his weight was supported against the other man’s chest. From the corner of his eye, he could see Iwaizumi watching the small tableau, blurry at the edges of Oikawa’s peripheral vision. Even like that, he was stupidly good-looking, and Tooru wondered how it might be like if Iwaizumi were in Ushijima’s position, cradling Tooru the way Doumeki did Watanuki. His fingers would be rougher, no doubt, his arms larger where they would cage Tooru in their embrace. Would Iwaizumi be gentler than Ushijima? The doujinka seemed as if he’d be as stubborn as the cosplayer, but the memory of Iwaizumi’s hands imprinted on his upper arms...

“Almost - just one more…and that’s it.” Shirabu looked up from his camera, giving the pair a thumbs up. “Same email as last time, G-King-san?”

“Yes, thank you.” Immediately straightening, Tooru sketched a mocking bow towards Ushijima. “Thank you so very much, Ace-sama, for this marvellous opportunity.”

“Likewise.” Typical really, that sarcasm would go over Ushijima’s head, as the other cosplayer nodded back. “One of these days, we will do a proper shoot together again.”

“Yeah, over my dead body,” Tooru muttered, arms crossed as Ushijima exited the small space, a portion of the crowd trailing after him. “Yahaba-chan, if I ever agree to a shoot with him willingly, please perform an exorcism immediately - I’ve likely been possessed by some malevolent ghost. Or body-swapped for science.”

“I’ll be sure to pack an ofuda the next time we’re at one of these cons, Oikawa-senpai.”

“I knew I could count on you.” Some of the observers had drifted closer to their booth, clearly interested in further photos with Tooru, and the cosplayer sighed briefly, eyes closing as he gathered himself back together, pulling his game face back on. “Could you give me a heads-up in fifteen minutes? I’ll take a break then.”

“Sure you don’t want to take it now?” Yahaba had to reach up a little to pat Tooru’s shoulder., but the sympathy was nice. “Dealing with Ace can be tiring, I know.”

“No, I’ve got it, I’m good. Fifteen minutes.”

Kiyoko came by before the fifteen minutes were up, looking resplendent as she swept up to their table. “I’m sorry for being late - a few small complications arose this morning before we left the hotel, and we had to handle them before we came here.”

“Ah, my Yuuko-san is finally here.” Tooru beamed, leaning forward to give her a hug, careful not the jostle the ornaments in her wig. “Yahaba-chan, I’ll be back later. Shall we?”

A light flush painted Kiyoko’s face a fetching pink, even as she dropped her hand gracefully into the one he extended to her. “Forever the charmer, Oikawa-san.”

“Alas, one of my many burdens to bear.” They stopped obligingly for a photo request, Tooru easily falling into a kneeling position at Kiyoko’s feet. “Did you know Ushiwaka-chan is dressed as Doumeki today? Ughhh.”

“He is?”

“You better not suggest the three of us should take photos together, Kiyoko-chan. You can go shoot with him if you want later, so long as I am at least ten rooms away. And no, you may not photoshop me into the picture.”

She laughed, patting the top of his head. “I’ll spare you that then. If you don’t mind though, I would like to stop by Karasuno before we head to the photo wall.”

“Lead the way.”

The hall was more crowded than it was yesterday, but Kiyoko had always possessed the ability to cut a swath through the masses of people, Tooru easily following in her stead. Sawamura was the first to notice them as they approached where the Karasuno-circle booths were, the booth helper waving the both of them over with his ever-present smile. “Kiyoko, Oikawa, hey. You just missed Suga - he went to poke around the Fukurodani booths. Apparently, Washio is selling metal bookmarks with Vocaloid characters on them this time around, and you know Suga and his love for Miku.”

“Oh, it’s G-King and Kiyoko-chan!” Nishinoya waved energetically from where he was standing, almost dislodging the diadem perched on his head. “Yo yo yo! Quick, we’ve gotta take a picture together - I wanna make my Twitter followers jealous.”

“Noya, please don’t step on my train. And be careful with where you’re waving that staff.”

“Whoops, sorry, Kiyoko-chan. Oh, yea, G-King, a couple of us are planning to grab dinner at Yoshinoya later. Kenma and Kuroo said they’re coming; Yamaguchi too, since he’s in town. Wanna join us?”

Tooru opened his mouth to agree - it wasn’t often that he got to meet up with the Miyagi-based cosplayers ever since he moved to Tokyo.

_“He drew Atobe Keigo doing your ridiculous peace-sign and winking.”_

“...I’m afraid I’ll have to pass; there’s another dinner I have to be at.” Tooru heaved an overdramatic sigh. “The perils of being as popular as I am, I suppose.”

Kiyoko made a thoughtful sound, tapping on her chin. “With the person minding the booth beside yours, I take it?”

“Hmm, Makki? He might be there, I suppose.”

“Ah, ‘Makki’ is the dark-haired man, quite muscular?”

“No, that’s Iwaizumi,” Sawamura corrected absent-mindedly from where he was sitting, doodling something into his sketchbook. “You probably know him as GYU-nikku - you know, the one who drew ‘Unchanging Blue’, that angsty Kurobasu doujin.”

“Oh, him - he _is_ a really good artist.” Kiyoko leant in close to Tooru. “Do convey my compliments to him on his work, and my apologies for monopolizing your time.”

Tooru’s laugh tumbled out a little shrill, and he hurriedly dialed it down. “Don’t be ridiculous, Kiyoko-chan! It’s not like Iwa-chan’s in charge of my schedule or anything. Why would you assume something like that?”

Kiyoko tilted her head, face puzzled. “Really? I got the impression that he didn’t seem particularly pleased when I came to fetch you from your booth.”

“He...didn’t?” Tooru hadn’t been looking at Iwaizumi then, delighted at Kiyoko’s appearance. “Ah, don’t read too much into it, Kiyoko-chan - Iwa-chan has one of those perpetually grumpy-looking faces; he always looks like he’s on the verge of committing homicide.” Except when he smiled, but Tooru tried not to dwell too much on moments like those.

“Well, I suppose that might explain his expression when we left.”

“He...watched us leave?” The thought of Iwaizumi watching the two of them, watching _Tooru_ swan around in a loose kimono was...the cosplayer pressed a hand to his stomach, as if that would keep the inexplicable butterflies swirling within at bay. “Anyway, Kiyoko-chan, hadn’t we better get moving? We wouldn’t want to clog up the walkway for too long!”

Kiyoko’s look was all too knowing, but she allowed him to hustle them away before Sawamura could vocalize the question his curious look was asking.

Despite his best efforts, when Iwaizumi asked if Tooru and Yahaba would like to join himself, Hanamaki and a few others for post-event dinner afterwards, the butterflies reemerged even as Tooru airily replied, “Well, since you’re the first to ask and all...I suppose I should be able to bless your gathering with my presence.”

“You know what, just Yahaba alone is fine.”

“Oh my god, stop it with the taking-backs, Iwa-chan - it’s not allowed!”

\---

“Yahaba-chan?”

“Mmm?”

“Completely hypothetically, as a theoretical question, is it possible for someone to develop a...liking for another someone even though they only meet, say, five or six times a year?”

Yahaba paused where he was moving sleepily to his room, shuffling over to flop onto their communal couch where Tooru was listlessly flipping through television channels. “Is this about Iwai-"

“It’s completely hypothetical! A fake situation, one that doesn’t exist in this reality!”

Yahaba leant his head against Tooru’s shoulder. “Okay, it’s a fake, hypothetical idea, got it. But...I guess it’s possible? It actually reminds me a little of the cowherd and weaver girl legend - they only got to meet once a year, and they made it work.”

“Yes, but they were already in love before that for quite awhile, weren’t they? Their romance wasn’t formed on the basis of their yearly meeting.”

“Well, you, I mean, the hypothetical couple have more than one chance a year to meet, compared to the cowherd and weaver girl - sounds about even to me. Come to think of it, they’re probably luckier than the cowherd-weaver pair, since they are hypothetically not limited to a single meeting anyway; assuming they’re rational, sane adults, they technically could set more meetings together to see if things have a chance of working out.” Yawning, Yahaba tugged on Tooru’s t-shirt. “C’mon, go to sleep, Oikawa-senpai. You’re thinking way too much for this time of night.”

“They could arrange other meetings, huh?”

“ _Sleep_. Or you’ll turn into a pumpkin and pumpkins don’t get to hypothetically hit on stoic doujinkas, but be pumpkins for the rest of their lives.”

 

\-- _-[[GYU-nikku] ‘HITO NO TOU MADE’, 2nd revision, page 13]---_

_“Skills-wise, we were never at the same level to start with, remember?”「Kasamatsu grins.」 “I have enough pride to admit that much.”_

_「A panel of Kise’s face searching Kasamatsu’s, one hand on his shoulder. He huffed a sigh.」_

_“Geez, you’re not getting it, senpai. Sure, I’m better at_ ~~_cosplaying_~~ _basketball by a long shot-”_

_“Hey, I already said it, you don’t have to brag-”_

_“C’mon, hear me out._ ~~_Seriously, you’re too impatient; you need to give me the space to say these kind of things!_ ~~ _I’m a better sportsman, but…”_

_「Closer panel of Kise’s sincere expression.」_

_“But senpai, you have always been the better man, in more ways than one.”_

 

“He liked the photo of me and Ushiwaka-chan from Comiket.”

“A lot of people liked the photo of you and Ushijima-san; that’s not unusual.” The table-top in front of their television was scattered with balled-up wads of papers and various stationeries, Yahaba scowling stormily down at the rough sketches in his grip. “I hate, hate, hate plotting, ugh, why am I still drawing doujinshi, _why do I do this to myself._ ”

“Because you’re actually good at it, no matter how many times you wail and complain.” Tooru stopped by the kitchen long enough to grab two cans of beer before he dropped into a sitting position on the carpet beside Yahaba, popping the tabs and handing one over to the younger man.

“It’s not even the drawing part that’s hard.” Yahaba griped, leaning on Tooru’s shoulder so the other man could pat his hair. “It’s the story-writing bit. I seriously wish I could be like Iwaizumi-senpai, or Matsukawa-senpai sometimes in terms of writing, and create the kind of plots that moves readers.”

“Mmm, you should just draw the timeline of my life then, Yahaba-chan. I have it on record that just the sight of me moves people to tears sometimes.”

Snorting, Yahaba dug his elbow into Tooru’s stomach, causing the other man to squeak. “Tears of pain, maybe.”

“Ugh, don’t _do_ that! What if I had dropped my beer on your sketches, huh?”

“That’s ok, they suck anyway.”

“No, they don’t.” Tooru rescued the sheets of paper from Yahaba’s clenched fingers before he could wrinkle them further. “They’re not perfect, but they’re something to build from when you’re feeling more inspired. Besides, didn’t Iwa-chan say you create interesting storylines? If the great GYU-nikku himself says you write good stuff, I’d be inclined to believe him.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course! Would this face lie to you?”

“Hnnn, maybe.” But Yahaba looked marginally less stressed, posture loosening. “Speaking of Iwaizumi-senpai, you said he liked something? Your xXxHolic photo?”

“Yeah.” Tooru flopped backwards against the foot of the sofa. “It’s...yeah.” It really wasn’t a particularly outstanding comment, nor was it as detailed as some of the feedback Tooru had received on his photos before. But the simple ‘ You’ve worked very hard and it shows’ was veritable praise, coming from the taciturn doujinka. Just thinking about it tugged the corners of Tooru’s lips upwards and he wondered if Iwaizumi had saved that particular shot the way Hanamaki said he did Tooru's cosplay photos.

“Maybe you’re right.” Yahaba was watching his face, taking a sip from his can contemplatively. “I should create a Kise-Kasamatsu doujinshi based on you and Iwaizumi-senpai. Make it an AU, it could work.”

“Then you’ll have the most boring doujinshi on earth, because there’s absolutely nothing going on between Iwa-chan and I.”

“‘Pining’ is always a fashionable theme. The only thing more popular is ‘mutual pining’.”

“Ah, Yahaba-chan, be careful with making assumptions you’re not sure of.” The beer sloshed dangerously closely to the brim of his can, and Tooru hurriedly righted it.

“What assumptions? I’m merely plotting the story of a doujinshi, senpai.” Yahaba’s grin was practically shit-eating at this point. “Also, I don’t hear any denial of that ‘pining’ bit.”

“Maybe I’m pining for you, Yahaba-chan.” Tooru rested his head against Yahaba’s. “Secret roommate love, how exciting.”

Yahaba snorted. “Yeah, no. I don’t want Iwaizumi-senpai to disembowel me with cutting remarks or his bara arms. You’ve got twenty seconds before I shake you off - I’ve got to finish planning at least three pages before I start on my Chemistry assignment.”

“Seriously, whatever happened to my cute underclassman who used to be so nice and accommodating?”

“He expired sometime last year, senpai - you should have checked the ‘Best Before’ date. Now, shove off.”

 

_\---[[GYU-nikku] ‘HITO NO TOU MADE’, 5th revision, page 18]---_

_“What’s with the sudden sentimentality today anyway?” 「Kasamatsu rubs at his neck.」You were a bit off earlier too; don’t think I didn’t notice. If something’s bugging you, just say so.”_

_「Flashbacks to odd looks flitting across Kise’s face throughout practice」_

_「Kise looks away, cheeks flushed」”Aww, man, isn’t it damn obvious already? Do I have to be uncool and say it?”_

_“Spit it out already, idiot.”_

_“I...I really like you, senpai.”_

_「Large panel of Kise lunging in to kiss a dumbstruck Kasamatsu.」_

 

**SEPTEMBER**

“Oh, fancy running into you here, Iwa-chan.”

Of course Iwaizumi would wear surprise well, Tooru thought as the other man turned around, startled by his cheery greeting. How unfair. “Oikawa, hi. Here to watch a movie too?”

“No, Iwa-chan, I just like standing in queues for the fun of it.”

“...okay, I walked into that one.” Hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, Iwaizumi looked a little rumpled, languid in the fading evening light. He didn’t protest as Tooru slid easily into line with him, moving over to accommodate the taller man. “What are you planning to watch?”

Tooru hummed. “‘Independence Day: Resurgence’.”

Iwaizumi’s brow wrinkled. “Heads up - Hanamaki says that it was shitty, horrible and utterly not worth the yen you’re going to spend on the ticket.”

“Oh I’m not there for the plot; I know it sucks.” Tooru waved a dismissive hand. “I’m there for the aliens.”

“The...aliens.”  

“Granted, there weren’t as many clips of them as I’d have liked in the trailers, but that bit where the alien communicated through possession via contact was really fascinating. Even though tentacles really are becoming rather cliched - why do all the Hollywood directors think that aliens will look like overgrown lizard-octopus hybrids? The previews of the space station looked really detailed as well, though I’m not sure if those structures would actually be practical if they were to exist in real life, as it would imply multiple points of gravity, which shouldn’t be possible - Iwa-chan, are you _laughing?_ Didn't your mother teach you that it was rude to laugh at another person when they’re trying to tell you something serious?”

Iwaizumi shook his head, still chuckling. “Sorry, sorry. Of course you’d be interested in aliens.”

“What about you then? What are you here to watch?”

“I was going to catch ‘Warcraft’, but I don’t know, you’ve rather sold me on the aliens in ‘Resurgence’ now.”

“You should totally watch it, nevermind what Makki says. Just think of all those beautiful settings and backgrounds and how they would aid in writing a space-themed doujin.” Tooru hesitated, then plowed on anyway. “Plus, there’s all that hot eye-candy, like...Liam Hemsworth.”

A brief pause, then, “Liam Hemsworth is pretty good-looking, I’ll give you that.” Iwaizumi’s mouth quirked upwards slightly, challengingly. “But Jeff Goldblum presents a more compelling overall package.”

The breath Tooru wasn’t aware he was holding whooshed out of him. “That’s perfect then - you should totally watch ‘Resurgence’ with me.”

The sigh escaping Iwaizumi sounded resigned, but fond. “Do you do this to all your friends, Trashykawa?”

Friends. Not acquaintances. Tooru risked looping his arm through Iwaizumi’s as they approached the ticket counter. “Think of it as one of the many privileges of knowing me, Iwa-chan.”

“Sabotaging people’s movie choices isn’t exactly what I’d consider a privilege.”

Despite his initial eagerness to watch the the movie, Tooru couldn’t help but be acutely aware of Iwaizumi’s presence beside him in the darkened cinema after they took their seats, a huge bucket of popcorn between them. The quiet atmosphere made the situation feel strangely intimate, just the two of them without the buffer of their friends or a post-convention meal. It was almost date-like, Tooru thought, feeling uncharacteristically restless as he shifted to get comfortable in the plush chair.

“You alright?” The brush of Iwaizumi’s voice, whisper-soft against his ear caused Tooru to jerk, startled, almost unbalancing the popcorn.

“Just excited. _Aliens,_ Iwa-chan.” If he were the doujinka of the pair of them, he would sketch how the flickering lights of the screen fanned shadows across the sharp angles of Iwaizumi’s face turned towards his, outlined the strong lines along his neck, traced in the knuckles of the hand that had reached out to steady the cardboard tub. The series of pre-show advertisements painted his eyes kaleidoscopic, one moment green, one moment red, but always so, so honest.

Embarrassed by his train of thought, Tooru reached for some popcorn to distract himself. His fingers brushed against warm ones amidst the buttery kernels; in his peripheral vision, Tooru could see Iwaizumi glancing at him again, forehead creasing. “You feeling cold?”

“It’s just bad blood circulation; don’t mind it.” Onscreen, the trailers had started - some animated film, by the looks of it. What it was about was lost to Tooru though, whose attention had narrowed in on where Iwaizumi had plucked his hand out of the bucket, immediately enveloping it between his larger, warmer ones.

“‘Like holding a damn ice cube,” Iwaizumi muttered, even as he squeezed Tooru’s hand firmly between his. “It’s heated in here; how are you still so cold?”

“Shhh, the movie’s starting.”

Iwaizumi sank back into his seat, and they lapsed into silence as the speakers around them blared the tunes of the various production companies involved in the making of the movie. And still Tooru’s hand remained cradled in one of Iwaizumi’s where they rested on the handrest; if Iwaizumi had but moved a finger over Tooru’s pulse point, he might have felt the quickened thrum drumming a strange euphoria through Tooru’s veins. As it was, the warmth of their contact evoked an equal companion in the heat of the flush rising up Tooru’s neck. Thank goodness for dark cinemas, Tooru thought.

He was probably going to have to watch this movie again if he really wanted to appreciate the aliens properly. But Iwaizumi’s fingers shifted position, curling around Tooru’s, and Tooru couldn’t bring himself to regret the wasted money.

\---

“Well,” Tooru began as they stepped out the cinema with the rest of chattering audience, “Makki wasn’t wrong, per se…”

“That’s being generous.” Iwaizumi grimaced. “I’ve read ten-page doujinshi deeper than that movie.”

“But my instincts were right though - the details and rendering of the aliens was fantastic~” Daringly, Tooru swung their hands once, still clasped together loosely. He had taken great care not to fidget or move overly much during the movie, in case Iwaizumi noticed and pulled his own hand back. But Iwaizumi had seemed content to leave his fingers tangled with Tooru’s, using his other hand to dip into the popcorn bucket that had somehow migrated into his lap.

Once the movie had ended, Iwaizumi had used that same handhold to pull Tooru out off the mass of cinema-goers exiting at the same time. So here they were, still surreptitiously connected to each other like high-schoolers on a first date. Only, Tooru reminded himself, gatecrashing someone else’s movie outing didn’t really qualify as a ‘date’ by any qualifications.

At least Iwaizumi didn’t look as if he would deck Tooru for dragging him into spending money on a questionably bad movie.

Out loud, he mused, “I wonder how it must be like to be used as a communication medium for one of those types of aliens. Like, do you think they would be able to read your mind during the process, or just talk through you like a radio?”

Iwaizumi laughed. “Of course you would completely overlook the part where they kill you after.”

“Details, details. Plus, if they could read minds, they’d realise I’d be too much of an asset to kill.”

“That, or decide you are merely too dumb to be worth the effort.” Smirking, Iwaizumi ducked Tooru’s scandalized swat.

“ _Iwa-chan._ Are you this mean to all your friends?”

“Nah, just the special ones with crappy tastes in movies. Oi, don’t punch me with my own hand.”

“You asked for it!” Iwaizumi’s grip was firm, even as he forcibly kept their clasped hands away from where Tooru was trying to swing it into his stomach, an amused grin creasing his face into something gentler than its usual seriousness.  

“Have you ever cosplayed an alien?”

“Hmmm? Not really, now that I think about it. The closest I’ve come to that is probably Trunks from Dragonball, and he’s still technically human.” Despite the humidity of summer, the night air was cool, a lightly breeze curling around collars and sleeves as Tooru pulled the other man over to a lamp post away from the dispersing crowd. “Anyway, it’d be expensive and too much of a shame to hide my face behind the kind of prosthetics needed for a Westernized alien concept.”

“Sounds like it might be an improvement, if you ask me.”

Iwaizumi had the kind of face that suited smiles, Tooru decided, even as he played up the indignant splutters expected of him. And smirks. And anything that relaxed that deep crease in his brow and curved his lips up in a way that made one want to press the lightest of pecks to their corners, if just to see them dimple.

Their shoulders were close enough that they were just about brushing, and it would only take but the slightest dip on Tooru’s part to kiss Iwaizumi. It was a tempting thought, but Tooru didn’t dare to break the pseudo-romantic limbo they appeared to be in. What if Iwaizumi was just being friendly? Did ‘friends’ in Iwaizumi’s definition do these kinds of things? Did he hold hands like this with Makki? Was Tooru simply doing what he did best and overthinking everything?

“Earth to Oikawa, come in.”

“Bwuh?”

Iwaizumi huffed, bumping Tooru’s shoulder companionably as he scrolled through his cell phone with his other hand. “I asked if you wanted to watch Star Trek when it comes out. You know, that second trailer that played, set in space, 'the final frontier'? According to the cinema schedule, it’ll should be showing in August, and if the clip is anything to go by, it’s going to have much better aliens than that crap earlier.”

“Aww, I knew you’d eventually come around about aliens.”

“Don’t kid yourself.” Iwaizumi’s smile was crooked as he slid his phone back into his pocket. “After those two hours, I think you’re going to have to convince me they’re actually worth a shot.”

“Well,” Tooru’s pulse was a hummingbird trapped beneath his skin, and he had to suppress a wince at how high his laughter sounded. “If it sucks, you’d at least have my superior company as compensation.”

“Superior trash maybe.” The night chill immediately bit into Tooru’s palm where Iwaizumi had finally pulled his hand away, the other man lifting it to glance at his wrist watch. “Huh, it’s already 9.30 p.m. Going to have to leg it if I want to get to the train on time.”

“Well then, I hope you didn’t skip out on all your leg days at the gym then, Iwa-chan.”

“What about you?” Iwaizumi looked at him, and he really need to stop being so considerate, Tooru lamented inwardly - it didn’t help Tooru cope with how attractive the other man was. “Not taking the train?”

“Nope, I live about fifteen minutes from here, in Ishiwara.”

“Should I-”

“Walk me back? I’m not a girl, Iwa-chan, I’ll be fine.” Tooru gave Iwaizumi’s back a  firm shove. “Go on, run - you have a train to catch.”

“So that’s a ‘yes’ to Star Trek?” Unlike Yahaba’s slighter build, all that muscle mass rendered Iwaizumi about as movable as a mountain, if mountains were made of warm skin, honest frowns and had stupidly compelling eyes. “Because if so, we should probably swap contact numbers - I’d like to not have to ask Hanamaki for yours. He’d be insufferable after.”

The hesitation was brief - Tooru had caved before he had even fully considered rejecting the invitation. “Is there any other possible answer? Clearly someone has to educate you on aliens in popular culture.”

A disbelieving snort. “If that helps you to sleep at night, sure. Here, pop your number in. I’ll send you a text once I get on the train.”

One of Iwaizumi’s (too many) good qualities was apparently promptness - Tooru was waiting for the elevator at his apartment building when his phone beeped cheerfully.

[From: unknown number]

I never skip leg day.

 

[To: Iwa-chan]

That’s what they all say Iwa-chan ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Its ok I wont judge you

 

[From: Iwa-chan]

As if you have enough brain to judge

 

[From: Iwa-chan]

Goodnight

 

[To: Iwa-chan]

Sleep well Iwachan! (′ʘ⌄ʘ‵) Its very important so you don’t develop even more wrinkles than the ones you already have!

 

[From: Iwa-chan]

How is it possible to be this annoying even through text

 

_\---[[GYU-nikku] ‘HITO NO TOU MADE’, 7th revision, page 20]---_

_“Well...I did it.” 「Kise sat back, smiling tremulously.」 “Just like I promised myself I would.”_

_“Kise...”_

_“I would have tried it earlier, but I guess I was having too much fun, y’know?” 「Head lowered, Kise runs a hand through his hair」 “Time flies when you enjoy yourself too much.”_

_“Kise…”_

_“After these three weeks, I don’t know when I’ll see you next, if at all. 「Lifting his head, Kise winks, but his expression is artificial, a parody of his usual light-hearted demeanor.」 “Sorry, senpai, I was selfish again, wasn’t I?”_

_「Flashback to Kise saying “This is going to sound ridiculous. But it doesn’t matter, right? Because whatever the circumstances...I feel as if we would have met anyway.”」_

_“OI ASSHOLE, SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO YOUR CAPTAIN!”_

 

**OCTOBER**

“Look who the cat finally dragged to my doorstep.”

“Hello to you too, Makki; you’re welcome for the blessing of my presence,” Tooru said cheerfully, tossing his hair. “Where are the drinks?”

“Priorities, priorities.” Hanamaki hustled Tooru in, pulling out another pair of house slippers from the cabinet just inside the door. “They’re on the kitchen counter top - you can’t miss it. By the way, I’d avoid the blue shots unless you’re looking to contract retrograde amnesia; Kyoutani made those.”

“Avoid Mad-Dog-chan’s alcohol, got it.” Tooru had only met Hanamaki’s curiously intense flatmate once in a colorfully memorable encounter at a convention when Tooru had cross-played Hatsune Miku on a dare. Nevertheless, given the number of times Yahaba had ranted about his ‘stupid, delinquent classmate - who even dyes their hair like that, Oikawa-senpai’, Tooru felt rather familiar with Kyoutani, if only via second-hand encounter.

Most of the people in the small space appeared to be regular con-goers; Tooru recognized Matsukawa, ensconced in a plush-looking beanbag and Semi Eita, another cosplayer. Someone who was conspicuously _not_ in the room was Iwaizumi, and Tooru firmly squashed his disappointment at the unexpected absence. When Hanamaki had texted him an invitation to his place ‘just for drinks’, it hadn’t taken a lot on the cosplayer’s part to immediately assume that Iwaizumi would be in attendance, given that the doujinka was close enough to Hanamaki that the latter worked as his booth helper at comic conventions.

In hindsight, Tooru might have agreed to come a little too enthusiastically, but encounters with Iwaizumi these days were far and few. While the Star Trek not-date may have been confirmed, it would be awhile yet before the movie hit Japanese shores. Already, Tooru missed talking to the other man. Spamming him with random text messages every now and then somehow didn’t quite measure up to the real thing, and Tooru was constantly worried that he might go overboard with the frequency of his texts.

Ah well, it couldn’t be helped. While it was a pity that time he had taken to switch out of his work uniform into a flattering casual outfit would be wasted, it was no reason for Tooru to sulk the night away.

Beer secured, Tooru ambled into the living room. Yahaba looked up from where he was chatting with a tall guy with hair akin to a turnip and grinned. “Oikawa-senpai! You made it. Was it hard finding this place?”

“Nope, your directions were nice and clear, Yahaba-chan. Hel~lo, everyone.” Tooru waved a little to the room at large before deciding to sit on the sofa. It didn’t take much for him to slot himself into one of the several conversations going around, and soon Tooru was whole-heartedly commiserating with Semi and Watari over overly-convoluted plotlines in Bleach.

“Figures, first time you manage to join us, and Iwaizumi is too busy to make it.” Matsukawa’s smile was lazy.

“Too bad, his loss.” Tooru schooled his face into casual nonchalance, all too aware of Matsukawa’s raised eyebrow.

“Exactly why I’m gonna post this to Twitter right now and tag him in it.” Hanamaki already had his cell phone out, moving to the far corner of the room in order fit everyone into the small frame.“Say cheese, guys.”

“Cheeseeee,” everyone chorused, even Kyoutani, who seemed to be in a heated argument with Yahaba over by the television. Given the clenched fists of his usually martyr-like flatmate, Tooru wisely decided to keep a watchful eye on that exchange.

Despite the lack of Iwaizumi, Tooru found himself enjoying the company immensely. The company Hanamaki kept were people with a fairly diverse range of interests, brought together by their convention encounters, artistic ventures and gaming interests. He was wrapped up in explaining how he used Worbla to create the shoulder armor for his Cao Pi costume to Hanamaki and Kunimi some thirty minutes later when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it.” Hanamaki got up from his seat beside Tooru, who shrugged and resumed explaining his crafting process to Kunimi. He didn't pay too much attention when Hanamaki’s voice, loud and entirely too gleeful, said, “Huh, I thought you were busy?”

“I finished up earlier than I expected.” That familiar, gruff tone curled around Tooru, stole a portion of his breath away even as his head involuntarily snapped up towards where Iwaizumi was shuffling into the apartment. “Anyway, I came, didn’t I?”

A chorus of greetings went up as Iwaizumi made his way into the living room, barely pausing before he easily sank into the empty spot Hanamaki had vacated next to Tooru, slumping back into the pillows with a long sigh. Despite the balmy night weather, there was a trickle of sweat rolling down the line of his neck into the collar of his grey hoodie, its journey only lengthened by how Iwaizumi had his head stretched back against the top of the sofa. His eyes were closed, chest rising and falling in quiet heaves, almost as if he had run to Hanamaki’s place.

Then Iwaizumi cracked open an eye to look at Tooru. “Hi.”

“H-hey, Iwa-chan.”

“Oikawa-senpai, how long did you say you have after you’ve heated up the Worbla pieces to mold them?”

“Uh.” Kunimi’s face was bland, but Matsukawa’s behind him was anything but, practically a mirror of Hanamaki’s as he toasted him with his glass, eyebrows waggling. “It depends on how long you heat it up. I generally blast pieces for about five seconds max; it’s usually malleable enough to be shaped by then. If you need to, you can reheat it again - better to be underheated than over; you’ll waste material that way.”

“How do you know when you can start molding it?” Iwaizumi had pushed himself into a sitting position, hands curling loosely on his knees. His voice was a little hoarse, but Tooru couldn’t detect any trace of mockery in it, only curiosity. “Are there any indicators? Does it change color?”

“It...doesn’t, actually; once the color changes, you’ve pretty much fucked it up. You’ve got to feel it, press it lightly to see if it’s flexible enough to handle manipulation. Be careful though, it’ll be hot to the touch...”

It was easy to pick the thread of conversation up where he had left off, even with the prickling awareness that Iwaizumi was beside him, listening and asking questions every now and then. Tooru genuinely enjoyed sharing how how he created his props and costume armor, generous with details and answers when asked (unless you were Ushijima, but that was different). ‘Humble bragging’ Kuroo had labelled it once, but Tooru couldn’t help taking pride in his work - “if that was bragging, Tettsun, then clearly I’ve earned the right do it.”

Eventually the conversation tapered off with Tooru giving his number to Kunimi, the latter promising to contact Tooru if he needed troubleshooting help with his Worbla-sculpting attempts. No longer distracted, Tooru leant back, surveying the tableau laid before him. Yahaba was still arguing with Kyoutani in a corner, but in a less agitated manner than before. Matsukawa and Hanamaki were nowhere in sight, probably mashing their faces together in a more private corner. The others were caught up in their own discussions, enough so that they didn’t notice the idle observer in their midst.

Iwaizumi was a solid warmth pressed against his thigh; at some point, his attention had been diverted over to a discussion on drawing anatomy. As Tooru watched, he advised Turnip-head on how to deal with arm foreshortening, his own hands moving to illustrate what he was referring to. “See how this part looks like from the front? It’s really awkward the first time you map it out, but you get used to it.”

Turnip-head muttered something, and Iwaizumi laughed, clapping him on the back. “Don’t say that - you’ve come a long way, Kindaichi.” Tooru was appalled at the brief flash of jealousy that surged through him, turning the taste of beer acrid in his mouth. He’s told you you’ve improved a lot too, he told himself forcefully, it’s nothing special.

The selfish part of him wanted it to be special though, to be his and only his to monopolize. He wanted to hog Iwaizumi's laughter, hoard all the amused looks and oh fuck, when had Tooru started wanting to keep Iwaizumi to himself?  

For far too long now, probably. Definitely before ‘Resurgence’. Possibly before Comiket. If Tooru were to unravel the emotions pulsing through him and trace them back to their origins, he would probably realize that this crush on Iwaizumi had long existed before Tooru even cared to acknowledge it, a bud that had weathered the winter of initial dislike to bloom, quiet and deep-rooted within a disbelieving heart.

It was a silly thought though, wanting to hog Iwaizumi’s attentions to himself; Iwaizumi wasn’t his to ‘keep’ in the first place, had never been his. It would figure, Tooru reflected, resigned as he took a sip from his can, that he would trip head-over-heels for the one person he had absolutely no confidence in impressing.

“-kawa. Are you listening to me?”

“Hmmm?”

 “I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then.” Iwaizumi shifted slightly, shaking his head. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Unfair, Iwa-chan - I,” was thinking of kissing your stupid face. “Was making a mental note to take in the laundry later. Anyway, I’m paying attention now, what is it?"

“What happened to your hand?”

“My hand? Oh.” Tooru’s eyes followed Iwaizumi’s where it was resting on a innocuous plaster patch on his wrist, mostly hidden by the long sleeve of his shirt. “Nothing big, just a small burn. Accidentally brushed it against my heat gun yesterday.” Iwaizumi grasped his forearm, lifting it slightly. “I know, yes, I was a little careless, you don’t need to rub it in-”

An involuntary gasp escaped Tooru as Iwaizumi’s thumb brushed over the fabric of the plaster lightly. The wrinkle was back in between his eyebrows, his features pressed into a frown as he inspected Tooru’s handiwork.

“...erm. It’s still a bit sore, sorry. By the way, I didn’t say you could rub it in literally either.”

“Heat gun?” Iwaizumi loosened his grip, and Tooru pulled his arm away. “What exactly are you working on now?”

“Finishing this beer. Geez, I knew you acted like a 60-year-old man, but I didn’t know your sight was going that way too.”

Tooru could practically feel the exasperation as Iwaizumi grumbled, “Don’t be dense. Answer the question properly.”

“Alright, sheesh, appreciate a little humor, Iwa-chan. I was finishing the _kusazuri_ pieces for Kasen. Remember him? With that finished, it’s five sixths of the costume done. I’m planning to bring it to the Philippines for a convention next month, so I’m starting to rush it a little.”

“The Philippines? Oh, CosplayMania.” A huge yawn overtook Iwaizumi, who grimaced. “Sorry, my bad. You got an invite?”

“Yup, as a cosplay guest and judge. The paints for the peony design on the mantle arrived yesterday, and I was planning to finish it over the weekend, but,” Tooru waved his wrist around a little. “I’m not going to risk messing up my material with shoddy painting, so I’ll give it a few days before I attempt anything. I might ask Yahaba-chan to help if he’s free, I suppose, but only if he doesn’t have any university assignments to work on.”

 “I could help with the painting.”

 “Eh?”

 “I could help with painting in the design.” Iwaizumi’s offer was matter-of-fact, as if he were commenting on the night air instead of committing to helping with Tooru’s monster of a costume. “Assuming you’ve already stenciled out the outline on the fabric.”

 “I...yes. I did that last weekend.” Tooru faltered. “It’s a lot of work though, I couldn’t possibly-”

 Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. “So you were going to force Yahaba to do this ‘lot of work’.”

 “I wasn’t - I wasn’t going to _force_ Yahaba-chan, oh my god, stop putting words into my mouth.” Tooru puffed out his cheeks before he realized how ridiculous he looked, immediately flattening them again. “I was going to do it _myself_ -”

 “And now I’m offering to do it for you.” A faint smile played along Iwaizumi’s lips, one that looked remarkably triumphant. “Look on the bright side - I won’t be able to complain about your cape-”

 “Mantle.”

 “Mantle, whatever. Think about it though; I can’t criticize you for something I did, right?”

 “There’s nothing to criticize anyway, you were the one who sketched out its design the last time - Iwa-chan, you can’t. I mean, aren’t you busy?”

 “Yeah, but I’ll have cleared my commitments by this Friday latest. Just text me your address, Idiotkawa and count your blessings.”

 “I...thank you, Iwa-chan.”

 “Text me your address,” Iwaizumi repeated. “Don’t think you can conveniently forget; I’ve got Yahaba’s number, and I have no qualms about asking him where he lives.”

 Someone called Iwaizumi’s name then, drawing his attention away from Tooru. Which was just as well; the cosplayer prayed the flush he could feel rising wasn’t as terribly obvious visually as it felt, a sting of heat that wasn’t alcohol-based. Instead, he flung himself into a conversation on the other end, willing his heart to calm down from where it was torn between exulting at the extra time with Iwaizumi and guilt at troubling him even further.

 Before long, Yahaba was tapping on his shoulder. “Senpai, it’s already ten. We should head back if we want to catch the train.”

 “Okay.” Most of the other guests had already taken their leave, save for a few still engrossed in a casual discussion by the television. Feeling brave enough to engage Iwaizumi once more, Tooru turned to his right, ready to deploy a airy farewell, only to see the doujinka slumped bonelessly against the sofa, clearly asleep.

 “Shh, don’t wake him.” Hanamaki came out of what was presumably a bedroom, carrying a light blanket. “He’s probably completely wiped.”

 Without the fear of Iwaizumi looking back, Tooru allowed his eyes to roam across Iwaizumi’s features, easily noting the bruised bags beneath his closed eyes and the dishevelled hair. Even in sleep, the artist’s whole body telegraphed exhaustion. “I thought Mattsun said he wasn’t coming.”

 “He wasn’t going to; he’s working on a pretty major commission at the moment, with very high visibility advertising-wise.” Hanamaki efficiently threw the blanket over Iwaizumi. “This client’s riding his ass hard - think he was pulling overnighters at some point last week. Wouldn’t want to be him right now, that’s for sure.”

 “No, I guess not.” Even with the haggard lines, Iwaizumi’s face, normally all serious angles and unforgiving brows, was soft in sleep. _Sleeping beauty,_ Tooru foolishly thought, resisting the urge to lean over and drop a kiss on chapped lips.

 “For all the ribbing, I’m actually surprised he managed to drag himself here, much less stay awake long enough to actually talk coherently.” Hanamaki’s gaze slid over to Tooru contemplatively. “Or maybe not.”

 There was something in Hanamaki’s tone that raised questions Tooru wanted to ask. _Why did Iwaizumi push himself to attend this gathering? Why aren’t you surprised that he’s here?_ Instead, he turned to Iwaizumi’s sleeping form. “You’re going to let him sleep over?”

 “He’s done it from time to time. Don’t worry about him, he’ll be fine.” Hanamaki grinned, and whatever was in his voice, along with the window for asking questions, was gone. “Don’t you guys have a train to catch?”

 “Yup.” Tooru had almost forgotten Yahaba was still there, one hand squeezing Tooru’s shoulder in silent understanding. “C’mon, senpai, time for us to go. Thanks for hosting tonight, Hanamaki-senpai.”

 If no one had been around, Tooru would have snapped a photo of Iwaizumi just like this, lashes against his cheeks, unguarded beneath a pale blue blanket. As it was, he settled for branding the image into his memory, even as Yahaba hustled the two of them out into the night.

\---

[To: Iwa-chan]

Are you really sure you want to help? Like, really sure?

 

[From: Iwa-chan]

Just send me your address already

 

[To: Iwa-chan]

xx, xxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxx  xxx xx

 

[To: Iwa-chan]

Thank you so much

 

[To: Iwa-chan]

Really

 

[From: Iwa-chan]

Are you an alien who has successfully body-swapped with Oikawa?

 

[From: Iwa-chan]

I’ll drop by this Saturday 1pm

 

_\---[[GYU-nikku] ‘HITO NO TOU MADE’, final revision, page 22]---_

_Ah, this man is like fire._

_Such was the thought running through my mind as I embraced him, pulling him as close into me as I could, his large hands leaving marks where they branded me with his fingertips. Across my back. Along my thighs. Wherever those burning fingers could reach, I welcomed the heat._

_「Panel of Kise’s face, eyes half-hidden by hair, buried in Kasamatsu’s bare shoulder. Kasamatsu’s head is thrown back, lips parted.」_

_“H-hah…”_

_If I trace our path back to when we first met, disliking each other, how strange our circumstances would seem now. The then-me would have scoffed at such a joke, derisive._

_But the ashes of resentment eventually disintegrated over time, leaving behind an ember of affection for this teammate, this person who was not the same person I met that first time in the gym, and yet that person all the same._

  _And before I knew it, the ember became a furnace I could no longer control._

 

As much as Tooru fretted over Iwaizumi coming over, when the hour of his arrival came, Tooru was too distracted to worry, caught up in fixing the hem of Kasen’s hakama on his portable sewing machine in the living room-turned-temporary-workspace. He may have been on schedule, but it was a tight one, given the date he intended to finish the costume by.

 Yahaba said something in his periphery, but Tooru was engrossed in breaking the stitches of the lining cleanly, his mind already running estimates on how much fabric he would need to let out in order for the pants to stop just above his ankles.

 “You,” he told the design sheet darkly, tugging on the seam ripper, “are completely and utterly illogical. Your designer must have been drunk, or high as a kite. Or both. Probably both, given that you make _so little sense._ Why the fuck am I cosplaying you again?”

 “Good question. Maybe one you should have asked a few weeks ago.”

 “Huh? Oh, Iwa-chan.” Tooru blinked owlishly up at him from behind his glasses. “How did you get in?”

 “Yahaba let me in. By the way, he said something about going over to Hanamaki’s earlier, just in case you weren’t paying attention. Which, now that I see you, I doubt you were.”

 “Mmm, Yahaba-chan’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.” Tooru returned his attention to ripping out the seams vengefully but neatly.

 “I don’t think it’s Yahaba I should be worried about,” Iwaizumi said dryly. “What are you doing?”

 “I’ve got to rehem these pants - they’re a little too long to show off the...shoes? Let’s just call them shoes.” Making a satisfied sound, Tooru brushed the last bits of thread off the thick material. “Since you’re here, Iwa-chan, could you do me a favor?”

 “I’m already doing you a favor.” Iwaizumi dropped the bag he was carrying by the couch and ambled over. “What is it?”

 “If I put these on, could you take the pins over there and pin the cloth up where I would need to pull it in to make the new hem? It’d be easier than me having to make estimates, and I can’t mark them myself without bending over, which would throw my measurements off.”

 “Sounds easy enough.” Sitting down cross-legged, Iwaizumi watched as Tooru gathered the pants up, moving towards his bedroom. “Oi, what are you doing?”

 “I’m going to change into the pants, of course. How else are you going to pin it?” Daringly, Tooru wiggled his butt. “Unless you’d like me to strip and change right here?”

 Iwaizumi was definitely red, his ears turning an endearing shade of pink.  “You - Just - hurry it up, Shittykawa.”

 “Good things come to those who wait, Iwa-chan,” Tooru singsonged from behind the door, quickly shimmying out of his jeans and into the snug hakama. They were comfortable, clinging to his hips nicely. When he exited the room, Iwaizumi had already pulled the pin cushion close to him, frowning down at the design sheets he had pulled closer to himself. “Tadah!”

 “Congratulations, you didn’t become a toad in your absence.” Snagging a corner of the pants bottom, Iwaizumi gently tugged Tooru closer to him. “Right, so just above the ankle right?”

 “Yeah.” Iwaizumi’s hand on his bare ankle was strangely arousing, and Tooru couldn’t help the slight twitch as calluses brushed across his legs. He instinctively jerked again as the touch reoccured, and Iwaizumi frowned up at him. “Sorry, it tickles.”

 “I’m going to end up stabbing you with one of these if you keep that up.” This time, the contact was deliberate, sure fingers gripping Tooru’s foot and steadying it. “Hold _still_.”

 Easier said than done. Grimacing, Tooru steeled himself, obediently staying as still as he could, even with the maddening sensation of Iwaizumi’s hands moving around his feet, pulling material up and pinning them neatly. He discreetly peered down at his toes. Were his toenails clean? Neat? Were there cracks in his heels? He knew he should have scrubbed them more thoroughly last night. Was Iwaizumi judging him based on the state of his feet? Tooru was usually very fastidious about his personal appearance, but work had been busy, and it wasn’t that he was expecting anyone to be viewing his feet up close and personal, much less his crush.

 “Done.” Iwaizumi’s voice pierced through Tooru’s mental agonizing. “Go check and see if this works.”

 Walking carefully over to his room, Tooru peered critically at the pants in the full-length mirror he kept there. “Looks good. Thank you, Iwa-chan - I knew I could count on you!”

 “It’s not that big a deal.”

 “Oh! How rude of me, I haven’t even offered you a drink since you’ve arrived.” Tooru quickly changed back into jeans, hurrying back into the living room-turned-workspace. “Do you want anything in particular? We have water, of course, beer, some Pocari…”

 “I’m good, maybe later.” Iwaizumi stretched, and Tooru’s traitorous eyes immediately zoomed in on the sliver of abdomen slyly exposed by the movement.  “So, how about that mantle?”

 “Ah yeah, let me go get that laid out.”

 Working side by side with Iwaizumi was actually rather pleasant. It was quiet, the soft J-pop from Tooru’s laptop the only sound filling the silence, but the comfortable type of quiet. The few times Tooru had glanced up from his tiny sewing machine, Iwaizumi was focused on his work, one hand pressing flat against the material to keep it from creasing as the other skillfully filled in the lines Tooru had traced onto the mantle with color. The artist’s back was broad beneath the T-shirt he wore, but aside from a couple of appreciative looks, Tooru didn’t have the time to afford drooling over them the way he might if he were less occupied.

 The hours melted into each other, and re-hemming the pants eventually segued into binding the edges of the inner body suit and the inner white _haori,_ a task Tooru was long familiar with. He had just started folding the gold bias tape over the _haori’s_ sleeves when Iwaizumi made an irritated noise. Glancing over, the other man was squinting down at the purple section of the peonies, an air-brush in hand. Iwaizumi had brought it along with, explaining to Tooru that it would be easier to get the gradients done smoothly with the tool.

 “I forgot to take into account the shadow casted on the costume,” Iwaizumi answered Tooru’s unspoken question, scrubbing a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t think I brought the right color along, sorry.”

 “Don’t mind it, Iwa-chan. I ordered the color for that too; it should be in the bag I handed to you somewhere.”

 “Yeah, but,” Iwaizumi’s forehead wrinkled with displeasure, the beginning of a frown. “That one doesn’t work with this air-brush. And brush work will make the material stiff.”

 “Then use the color you initially wanted to use.” Tooru glanced at the color Iwaizumi had pronounced ‘wrong’ and wrinkled his nose. “Oh c’mon - it’s not that much different that people will notice. I probably wouldn’t have realized until you pointed it out.”

 “Still...” Iwaizumi was bothered, likely blaming himself for the ‘error’ and really, that wouldn’t do.

 “Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, look at me.” Tooru waited until he had Iwaizumi’s attention. “It’s rich coming from me, I know, but it’s not actually possible to be a hundred-percent accurate as a cosplayer. You’ve told me before that a lot of costume designs were not actually designed with reality in mind, remember? For one, we don’t have a wind machine on us all the time. Also, some things simply don’t translate well into actual clothing; we slyly modify things all the time.” He reached out and poked Iwaizumi’s forehead, right in the middle of the furrow. “So dispel this, and don’t worry too much about it. I’m sure it’ll look wonderful whichever way you decide to do it.”

 “Don’t worry too much about inaccuracies, huh?” The wrinkle was reluctantly smoothing out under his finger as Iwaizumi’s frown dissolved into a small smirk. “Then why did you get so annoyed when I pointed the ones in your costumes out?”

 “I’m just really precise, okay?” Tooru muttered. “And you keep catching the mistakes that aren’t my conscious modifications. It’s annoying.”

 Iwaizumi was still smirking when he got back to work, but the guilt had largely dissipated, his expression relaxed as he considered his paint options. Smiling, Tooru resumed his own task. By the time Iwaizumi eventually called for a break, the peonies were drying, beautifully detailed and laid out on the mantle. It didn’t take much to persuade Tooru to pause for a few minutes, especially since the gold binding for the _hakama_  pieces were finally finished.

 Iwaizumi eyed the layers laid out over the couch, drinking from his Pocari can. “You even made the inner layer, huh?”

 “Yup, just in case I do a disrobing shoot.” A choked sound from his right, and Tooru peeked over, grinning as he registered Iwaizumi’s reddening face.  “Oooh, thinking lewd thoughts, Iwa-chan, hmmm?”

 “As if.” The answer came too fast, Iwaizumi’s countenance half-obstructed by the lifting of his can. “I've no idea why I even asked - of course you’d do a disrobing shoot.”

 “It’s rarely all the way; at most, I’ll probably have the _hakama_ partially opened in a ‘everyday snapshot’ moments type of shoot. Or a BL one, I suppose, but those are rarer, since I’m a bit picky as to who I shoot with.”

 “Because they’re not good enough?”

 The edge that had entered Iwaizumi’s voice verged on being strangely sharp, and Tooru blinked at him, surprised. “No, because my partner needs to be able to tell the difference between playing it up for a photoshoot and actual affection. My favorites are people like Kuroo, Suga or Kiyoko - they know how to play up the angles and fanservice, but more importantly, they know it’s hands-off once the camera stops.” He put down his glass. “Obviously, the quality of their cosplay does factor into whether or not I’ll participate group or pair shoots, but I’d like to avoid unnecessarily handsy people who believe I’ve fallen in love with them just over a couple of photos.”

 “...Oh.” Iwaizumi’s tone was odd, and Tooru wondered.

 “Since we’re still taking a short break, let me go try these pieces on. Not the cape, of course, but I might as well see how the inner suit, the _hakama_ and the _haori_ work together.” He shot Iwaizumi an impish grin as he gathered up the costume pieces, hoping the doujinka’s weird mood would lighten up. “Be grateful, Iwa-chan, I’m giving you an exclusive early preview, even before Twitter.”

 It didn’t take long for Tooru to pull the three pieces on, tucking the white _haori_ into the waistband of the _hakama_ as he surveyed his reflection. Despite the missing outer _haori_ and mantle, he looked presentable.The high collar at his neck was a little wrinkled, and Tooru made a mental note to consider adding interfacing to it. Tugging on the pants to straighten it, he stepped out of the room and did a little twirl.

 “How does it look?”

 Iwaizumi didn’t answer immediately, the lines of his face set in unreadable lines. He put down his can, slightly crumpled, and studied Tooru silently. Tooru felt self-consciousness flood his face, felt it sit high on his cheeks. Nevertheless, he held his head up, tilted at an angle he knew best showcased his cheekbones and the line of his jaw. The costume was far from complete, but here, in this moment, Tooru felt almost as if he were presenting himself to Iwaizumi, gracefully folding his hands to rest in front of his body as he awaited the other man’s judgement.

 And still Iwaizumi said nothing, apparently content to look without a single sound. But where his mouth was silent, his eyes spoke, skimming Tooru’s form reverently, each deliberate stop almost like a physical caress, so heavy its weight.

 Tooru was poorly equipped to translate the eloquence though, did not dare assume the fondness was indeed that, or that the weight of the slow gaze was longing. “Too tongue-tied? It’s ok, Iwa-chan; that happens a lot-”

“The collar.” The words were rough, and Iwaizumi looked as surprised as Tooru at the sudden interruption. Clearing his throat, the doujinka spoke again, even as he approached Tooru slowly. “The collar, it’s crooked.”

  _Ah, it needs interfacing_ , _it can’t be helped -_ all words lodged in Tooru’s throat as Iwaizumi reached up, fingers curling around the collar in an attempt to flatten it. Iwaizumi’s knuckles were pinpricks of heat, painting strips of warmth where they brushed Tooru’s neck, and this, this was so much worse than his ankles. Tooru thought he might have gasped, a flutter of noise flying free from the cage that was his mouth, strings of sentences clamoring to follow after; _I think I like you, I like what you’re doing do it more, Iwachan Iwachan Iwachan-_

Iwaizumi was doing the small frown again, a small valley between thick eyebrows. He should stop frowning so much, Tooru’s mouth wanted to say, the sentiment escaping in a voiceless sigh instead. Iwaizumi looked up then, the line deepening and Tooru saw his lips part, could see the question suspended on their cusp - _What’s wrong are you ok_ ? But Tooru wanted to say his piece first - _you’re going to look like an old man if you keep doing that, Iwa-chan_ \- wanted to tell Iwaizumi that -

Leaning down, his lips pressed the words, soft and tremulous, directly against the crease, feeling it dissolve beneath the impromptu kiss.

For a moment, nothing moved, save for perhaps Tooru’s heart, plunging from his throat down to his feet in cold horror at what he’d done. Stumbling back, he averted his eyes, hands already coming up to push Iwaizumi away, five different types of apologies coming up like bile -

All of them swallowed by Iwaizumi’s mouth upon his, hot and hungry, even as hands scrabbled to grip arms through the _haori_ material. Tooru’s eyes immediately latched onto the face before his, wide and disbelieving even as the seam of his lips easily parted beneath the warm assault of tongue. Then Iwaizumi shifted, and the surprise was shuttered by eyelashes as Tooru’s hands tentatively locked themselves behind Iwaizumi’s neck and pulled him closer.

“Are you for real?” was the first thing that Iwaizumi said, ragged and raw once he had pulled away. “Seriously?”

“Iwa-ch-chan, I’m always for real.” A hitch in breath as Iwaizumi nosed against the line of Tooru’s jaw, pressing a kiss to the junction where chin met neck. “I - I -”

“I was working up the nerve to ask, damn it.” Fingers tugged at the red ribbon holding his collar close, slowly parted the two flaps of fabric. “I was going to fucking _confess._ Can’t believe you beat me to it.”

“You’re too slo-ooooow, Iwa-chan.” Tooru’s voice disintegrated into a high-pitched whine at the light graze of teeth along his skin. “I didn’t even kno- _ah_ \- that you liked me at all…”

“I’ve liked you for ages, dumbass. I thought _you_ hated me.” It was as if Iwaizumi were reading the words from Tooru’s own script, even as the cosplayer caught Iwaizumi’s face in his hands and pulled it up to his for another long, slow kiss. “Shit, I feel like a horny teenager.”

A breathless giggle escaped Tooru. “That’s ok, if I’m your teenage dream.”

“Shut up, or I’ll stop right now.” Iwaizumi’s voice, husky and longing, betrayed his retort, his breath fanning over Tooru’s cheek. “Do you know how tempting your damn collarbone is, in this collar? You standing there, like some sort of display just for me, _fuck_ -”

Tooru shuddered, eyes falling closed as a finger traced down his neck, hand sliding beneath said collar and splaying over naked skin, setting it ablaze. “Iwa-chan, I-”

“I’ve been thinking of doing this for months.” The confession Iwaizumi had promised, as broad hands started tugging at the _haori,_ sliding hot heat through the Lycra across the expanse of Tooru’s chest.  “Kissing you. Touching you. _Everywhere_. ”

“ _Hgn,_ Iwa-chan.” Tooru’s hands scrabbled to hold onto heated skin, flushed dark with arousal beneath the tan. “Iwa-chan, I...before we...this costume, let me get out of this please, please, I can’t afford to make another one -”

“...Well, that’s the momentum ruined.” But wry amusement colored his voice, and there was that familiar grin that sat so well on his features as Iwaizumi loosened his grip in silky cloth, moving his hands until they were tracing small circles on Tooru’s palms.

“All this is expensive, okay? And I don’t have the time to remake it all.”

“But this…this is ok?”

In lieu of answering, Tooru turned his palms around so that his fingers curled around Iwaizumi’s. “I’m going to go to my bedroom to take these off.” Pulling the both of them along,  he shot Iwaizumi as coquettish a look as he could muster over the frame of his glasses. “And I wouldn’t mind some...hands-on assistance.”

Shaking his head, Iwaizumi allowed himself to be tugged into Tooru’s bedroom. “If that was supposed to be seductive, that was terrible.”

“Mmmm nope,” Tooru singsonged, heart dancing, light. “I’m good. I’m _wonderful_.”

“You,” Iwaizumi’s breath tickled Tooru’s ear. “Are the best headache I’ve ever had.”

“What? That wasn’t sexy at all, Iwa-chan!”

“No? Then I guess I’ll have to," A nip at Tooru's earlobe, wet and hot, "..show you…”

The door lock clicked behind him.

\---

[From: Cutest Kouhai Yahaba-chan]

I’ll be staying at Hanamaki-senpai’s house tonight

 

[From: Cutest Kouhai Yahaba-chan]

Please tell Iwaizumi-senpai I have kept his airbrush already. Your paints are in the kitchen

 

[From: Cutest Kouhai Yahaba-chan]

Next time please give me advance warning senpai ლ(ಠ益ಠლ)

\---

(“Iwa-chan?”

A jaw-cracking yawn, as a bare torso pressed closer against the expanse of his back. “Whatever it is, ask me in the morning.”

“I think I might...like you. A lot.”

“I love you too. Now sleep.”)

 

**NOVEMBER: LOVE IS PAIN Only-Doujinshi Market**

“You know,” Matsukawa mused, leaning so far back in his chair, it ran the risk of overbalancing. “Considering how we always end up being lined up beside each other, we should start our own doujinshi circle. Make a proper page for it and everything, give Karasuno a run for its money. Hell, if we do it quick enough, we could have it up and running by Jump Festa.”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea, actually,” Yahaba enthused from where he was neatly rearranging his extra stock under the table. “We’d be down for it, right, Oikawa-senpai?”

“Mmm, I don’t know...saddle the G-King brand to a doujin circle?” Tooru squeaked as Iwaizumi poked him in the side. “Don’t _do_ that, Iwa-chan!”

“He’s up for it.” Iwaizumi said, even as he pulled Tooru back to leaning on his shoulder. “And a doujin circle sounds good. Pick a good name though - don’t let Oikawa saddle us with some weird-ass name.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that my naming sense is excellent.”

“‘G-King’. I rest my case.”

“You weren’t complaining about it last n-”

“Speaking of which,” Yahaba said loudly, “Why _do_ our booths keep getting set up beside each other? It’s kinda weird, isn’t it, considering none of us requested for specific positioning.”

Matsukawa shrugged. “Beats me. I generally request for my booth to be located close to GYU-nikku’s, so that’s not surprising on my end.”

“Not surprising here either, since I specifically ask for ours to be beside Yahaba's whenever I can." Hanamaki’s grin was Cheshire-cat-wide, even as Iwaizumi shot up, almost dislodging Tooru.

“Waaa, Iwa-chan-!”

“You..."Iwaizumi stared at his best friend, mouth agape. " _You’re_ the reason why we’re always beside them?”

“That’s what happens when you let me do all our booth registrations, Iwaizumi. Beside, all that UST? Worth it.” Hanamaki reached over and high-fived Matsukawa. “By the way, thank you for getting your act together so quickly - I thought I was going to lose the bet.”

“The… bet,” Tooru echoed blankly.

“Yeah.” Matsukawa didn’t even look semi-apologetic. “My money was on  you two shacking up after Jump Festa, but I failed to factor in the super-effective bonding powers of teamwork on costume construction. I had to fork out my hard-earned sales money to ‘Hiro."

“All’s fair in love and bets on love.” Hanamaki winked at Tooru. “I’d offer to buy you dinner as thanks, but I’m pretty sure Oikawa here owes me at least five dinners, with how much ranting about you I had to put up with from Iwaizumi here after every con. Every single time, it was ‘Oikawa this’ and ‘Oikawa that’...”

“I was _not_ \- ”

“Makki,” Tooru said very seriously, “I will buy you those five dinners.”

“Oi, why are you enabling -”

Tooru halted Iwaizumi’s objection with a brief peck on his temple, turning his boyfriend even redder. “Shh, Hajime~ Thank your friend nicely; didn’t you hear? We owe him.”

“Hey,” Yahaba protested. “I deserve dinner too, for all _I_ had to put up with. _And_ for having to deal with all the extra PDA around our apartment now too.”

Iwaizumi sighed, long-suffering. “Fine, fine. One dinner. _One._ Take it or leave it.”

“Done deal.” Hanamaki grinned, sitting up properly in his chair. “Now, to arms, everyone: the crowds are coming in.”

 

_\---[[Yajirushi] ‘Omae ga Ore no Unmei no Hito Kamoshirenai’, first draft, page 1]---_

_「A panel of dark and light screentones, shot through with flower petals. Below it is the silhouette of two lovers standing on a bridge of birds, fading into a panel of an empty basketball court underneath.」_

_Fate...destiny… whatever it’s name, it is the mastermind behind the circumstances of meeting, and the tragedy of parting._

_At times, it tears lovers apart, placing them on the opposite sides of the world, doomed to forever pine for their other half._

_But sometimes, it selects its players_ ~~_like Oikawa-senpai and Iwaizumi-senpai_ ~~ _more whimsically and places them on a stage of its choice, orchestrating a meeting they themselves might not have been able to see coming._

 

**Author's Note:**

> 'Hito no Tou Made' - 'Till People Ask Me', from Poem 40 of the Hyakunin Isshu:
> 
> Shinoburedo  
> Iro ni ide ni keri  
> Waga koi wa  
> Mono ya omou to  
> Hito no tou made
> 
> Even though I hide it  
> it shows all over my face,  
> such is my longing,  
> so that people ask me  
> "What are you thinking about?"
> 
> 'Omae ga Ore no Unmei no Hito Kamoshirenai' - 'I May Be Meant to Be With You'
> 
> Nickname/Handles:  
> Oikawa - G-King/Grand King  
> Ushijima - Ace/ Super Ace  
> Iwaizumi - GYU-nikku/ word play on 'unique' as pronounced in Japanese katakana ('yunikku') + 'gyuniku' - 'beef' in Japanese (since Iwa-chan is a beefcake)  
> Sugawara - Shiroshi/ Shiro, Japanese for 'white'  
> Yahaba - Yajirushi/ Japanese for 'arrow'; wordplay on Yahaba's name, which means 'broad arrow'  
> Kuroo - Kurogane/ Japanese for 'black metal' + wordplay on Kuroo's name  
> Akaashi - Rufous/ from the 'rufous-legged owl' (translation of 'akaashi mori fukurou')
> 
> Matsukawa's booth (NAITO Safari/Night Safari) is an actual booth name, as a nod to a friend's doujin booth.
> 
> Cosplay outfits:  
> Oikawa: [Shokudaikiri Mitsutada](http://i.imgur.com/q88s3Xe.png), [Zhao Yun](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/dynastywarriors/images/9/91/Zhaoyun_cg.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20121104061112), [Atobe Keigo](http://g01.a.alicdn.com/kf/HTB10tchKpXXXXaLXVXXq6xXFXXXt/new-tennis-ball-prince-font-b-Atobe-b-font-Keigo-beautifully-hand-office-earners-model-Genuine.jpg), [Shokudaikiri Mitsutada (MMD, jumpsuit)](http://i.imgur.com/s0VvOge.png), [Watanuki (with Doumeki)](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/37900000/Shizuka-Doumeki-Watanuki-and-Yukio-shizuka-doumeki-37974161-1000-675.jpg), [Kasen Kanesada](http://static.zerochan.net/Kasen.Kanesada.full.1853834.jpg)
> 
> Kuroo: [Sephiroth](http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/uncyclopedia/images/3/38/Kh2-sephiroth.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20070523113005), [Raiden](http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/metalgear/images/0/01/Character_01raiden.png/revision/20130205223509), [Ookurikara (MMD, right figure)](http://i.imgur.com/Z2gs4QA.png) (unmentioned in the fic; the photoshoot Tsukishima shot)
> 
> Suga: [Heshikiri Hasebe](http://rcdn-1.fishpond.co.nz/0068/665/461/195665307/6.jpeg)
> 
> Akaashi: [Akashi Seijurou](http://66.media.tumblr.com/591be99ee0d9c9f5c49961e0120d8c84/tumblr_nbgz114Gvf1tczegho1_500.png)
> 
> Kiyoko: [Yuuko Ichihara](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/e9/a7/df/e9a7df518ce4e693ec560727c1d51bbf.jpg)
> 
> Nishinoya: [Son Goku](https://www.cosplayhouse.com/images/product/D/Saiyuki_Son_Goku_shoes_ver_01-2-04.jpg)
> 
> I know this follows every fic at this point, but seriously, [Enzen](http://wataksampingan.tumblr.com/) deserves a standing ovation for the amount of undue stress I put her through every single time I opened this word file.
> 
> Also, to you who have made it to this point, thank you so much for reading! ( •̀ᄇ• ́)ﻭ✧ I hope it was worth the ride.  
> (Kudos to you if you caught all the other fandom cameos!)
> 
> I have a [tumblr](http://hweiro.tumblr.com/) if you want to come flail with me over Iwaoi and other such things.


End file.
